921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.

169 In Ebon Box, when years have flow… To reverently peer, Wiping away the velvet dust Summers have sprinkled there!

863 That Distance was between Us That is not of Mile or Main— The Will it is that situates— Equator—never can—

932 My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word— The Stars that stated come to Tow… Esteemed Me never rude

The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown In Chrysoprase Apartments hung This afternoon put on— How condescending to descend And be of Buttercups the friend

321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—

626 Only God—detect the Sorrow— Only God— The Jehovahs—are no Babblers— Unto God—

869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid