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

The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day

903 I hide myself within my flower, That fading from your Vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me— Almost a loneliness.

154 Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels—lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.

529 I’m sorry for the Dead—Today— It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences— It’s time o’ year for Hay.

593 I think I was enchanted When first a sombre Girl— I read that Foreign Lady— The Dark—felt beautiful—

575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,

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

496 As far from pity, as complaint— As cool to speech—as stone— As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone—

153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”

862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.

I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,

The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,