A slash of Blue—
A sweep of Gray—
Some scarlet patches on the way,
Compose an Evening Sky—
A little purple—slipped between—

212
Least Rivers’—docile to some sea.
My Caspian’—thee.

The Soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend—
Or the most agonizing Spy—
An Enemy—could send—
Secure against its own—

531
We dream’—it is good we are dreami
It would hurt us’—were we awake’—
But since it is playing’—kill us,
And we are playing’—shriek’—

183
I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim
In a Cathedral Aisle,
And understood no word it said—
Yet held my breath, the while—

50
I haven’t told my garden yet—
Lest that should conquer me.
I haven’t quite the strength now
To break it to the Bee—

EXCEPT the heaven had come so n
So seemed to choose my door,
The distance would not haunt me so
I had not hoped before.
But just to hear the grace depart

24
There is a morn by men unseen—
Whose maids upon remoter green
Keep their Seraphic May—
And all day long, with dance and g

A little Snow was here and there
Disseminated in her Hair -
Since she and I had met and playe
Decade had gathered to Decade -
But Time had added not obtained

480
“Why do I love” You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Gra
To answer—Wherefore when He pass