904 Had I not This, or This, I said, Appealing to Myself, In moment of prosperity— Inadequate—were Life—

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

191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!

453 Love — thou art high — I cannot climb thee — But, were it Two — Who knows but we —

113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—

185 “Faith” is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see— But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.

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

To see her is a Picture— To hear her is a Tune— To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June— To know her not—Affliction—

486 I was the slightest in the House— I took the smallest Room— At night, my little Lamp, and Boo… And one Geranium—