852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.

We like March, his shoes are purp… He is new and high; Makes he mud for dog and peddler, Makes he forest dry; Knows the adder’s tongue his comin…

573 The Test of Love—is Death— Our Lord—"so loved"—it saith— What Largest Lover—hath Another—doth—

207 Tho’ I get home how late—how late… So I get home—’twill compensate— Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me—

My life had stood—a Loaded Gun— In Corners—till a Day The Owner passed—identified— And carried Me away— And now We roam in Sovereign Woo…

448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense

206 The Flower must not blame the Bee… That seeketh his felicity Too often at her door— But teach the Footman from Vevay—

XLIX A POOR torn heart, a tattered he… That sat it down to rest, Nor noticed that the ebbing day Flowed silver to the west,

913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end

268 Me, change! Me, alter! Then I will, when on the Everlast… A Smaller Purple grows— At sunset, or a lesser glow

220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?