The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,

598 Three times—we parted—Breath—and… Three times—He would not go— But strove to stir the lifeless F… The Waters—strove to stay.

746 Never for Society He shall seek in vain— Who His own acquaintance Cultivate—Of Men

The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes

Elysium is as far as to The very nearest Room If in that Room a Friend await Felicity or Doom— What fortitude the Soul contains

23 I had a guinea golden— I lost it in the sand— And tho’ the sum was simple And pounds were in the land—

900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness

837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.

596 When I was small, a Woman died— Today—her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac— His face all Victory

718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—

643 I could suffice for Him, I knew— He—could suffice for Me— Yet Hesitating Fractions—Both Surveyed Infinity—

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

453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—

310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—