232 The Sun—just touched the Morning— The Morning—Happy thing— Supposed that He had come to dwel… And Life would all be Spring!

The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.

131 Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze—

305 The difference between Despair And Fear—is like the One Between the instant of a Wreck And when the Wreck has been—

645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—

142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.

295 Unto like Story—Trouble has entic… How Kinsmen fell— Brothers and Sister—who preferred… And their young will

793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—

To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn't hurt— It's only fainter—by degrees— And then—it's out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—

39 It did not surprise me— So I said—or thought— She will stir her pinions And the nest forgot,