My cocoon tightens, colors tease, I’m feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be

909 I make His Crescent fill or lack— His Nature is at Full Or Quarter—as I signify— His Tides—do I control—

509 If anybody’s friend be dead It’s sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive… At such and such a time—

460 I know where Wells grow’—Droughtl… Deep dug’—for Summer days’— Where Mosses go no more away’— And Pebble’—safely plays’—

Because I could not stop for Deat… He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselv… And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste,

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

262 The lonesome for they know not Wh… The Eastern Exiles—be— Who strayed beyond the Amber line Some madder Holiday—

My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper

229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near

Could Hope inspect her Basis Her Craft were done - Has a fictitious Charter Or it has none - Balked in the vastest instance

423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—