LXII A DROP fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh.

XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair

440 ’Tis customary as we part A trinket—to confer— It helps to stimulate the faith When Lovers be afar—

22 All these my banners be. I sow my pageantry In May— It rises train by train—

I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since

MY cocoon tightens, colors tease, I 'm feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be

382 For Death—or rather For the Things 'twould buy— This—put away Life’s Opportunity—

393 Did Our Best Moment last— ‘Twould supersede the Heaven— A few—and they by Risk—procure— So this Sort—are not given—

514 Her smile was shaped like other sm… The Dimples ran along— And still it hurt you, as some Bi… Did hoist herself, to sing,

I saw the wind within her I knew it blew for me '— But she must buy my shelter I asked Humility

142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.

312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,

966 All forgot for recollecting Just a paltry One— All forsook, for just a Stranger’… New Accompanying—