Part One: Life XXXV I CAN wade grief, Whole pools of it,— I ’m used to that.

74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!

The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,

498 I envy Seas, whereon He rides— I envy Spokes of Wheels Of Chariots, that Him convey— I envy Crooked Hills

838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine

607 Of nearness to her sundered Thing… The Soul has special times— When Dimness—looks the Oddity— Distinctness—easy—se ems—

884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.

959 A loss of something ever felt I— The first that I could recollect Bereft I was—of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect

961 Wert Thou but ill—that I might sh… How long a Day I could endure Though thine attention stop not on… Nor the least signal, Me assure—

748 Autumn—overlooked my Knitting— Dyes—said He—have I— Could disparage a Flamingo— Show Me them—said I—

Warm in her Hand these accents li… While faithful and afar The Grace so awkward for her sake Its fond subjection wear -

XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.

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