89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—

18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.

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

It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -

982 No Other can reduce Our mortal Consequence Like the remembering it be nought A Period from hence

The Black Berry—wears a Thorn in… But no Man heard Him cry— He offers His Berry, just the sam… To Partridge—and to Boy— He sometimes holds upon the Fence…

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

A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,

XXIX THE nearest dream recedes, unreal… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school—boy

Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—

The wind begun to rock the grass With threatening tunes and low,— He flung a menace at the earth, A menace at the sky. The leaves unhooked themselves fro…