Death leaves Us homesick, who beh… Except that it is gone Are ignorant of its Concern As if it were not born. Through all their former Places,…

6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.

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

After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—

He ate and drank the precious Wor… His Spirit grew robust— He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust— He danced along the dingy Days

Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.

I know a place where summer strive… With such a practised frost, She each year leads her daisies ba… Recording briefly, ‘Lost.’ But when the south wind stirs the…

914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude

74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!

972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—