Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill

525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe

THE BAT is dun with wrinkled wi… Like fallow article, And not a song pervades his lips, Or none perceptible. His small umbrella, quaintly halve…

Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,

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,

159 A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa…

I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come,

Tie the strings to my life, my Lo… Then I am ready to go! Just a look at the horses— Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side,

628 They called me to the Window, for “ ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said— I only saw a Sapphire Farm— And just a Single Herd—

Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,

777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—