567 He gave away his Life— To Us—Gigantic Sum— A trifle—in his own esteem— But magnified—by Fame—

The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,

Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,

A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not, His notice sudden is. The grass divides as with a comb,

31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!

596 When I was small, a Woman died— Today—her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac— His face all Victory

My Garden—like the Beach— Denotes there be—a Sea— That’s Summer— Such as These—the Pearls She fetches—such as Me

XVII SHE rose to his requirement, drop… The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife.

852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.

472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—

104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.