657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—

Apparently with no surprise, To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play, In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on.

103 I have a King, who does not speak… So—wondering—thro’ the hours meek I trudge the day away— Half glad when it is night, and sl…

941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize

213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?

693 Shells from the Coast mistaking— I cherished them for All— Happening in After Ages To entertain a Pearl—

To make a prairie it takes a clove… One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.

733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—

849 The good Will of a Flower The Man who would possess Must first present Certificate

After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—

845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!

588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—