18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.

We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,

111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—

301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?

606 The Trees like Tassels—hit—and sw… There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying the Sun—

Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets,… Prodigal of blue, Spending scarlet like a woman,

866 Fame is the tine that Scholars le… Upon their Setting Names— The Iris not of Occident That disappears as comes—

728 Let Us play Yesterday— I—the Girl at school— You—and Eternity—the Untold Tale—

684 Best Gains—must have the Losses’… To constitute them—Gains—

626 Only God—detect the Sorrow— Only God— The Jehovahs—are no Babblers— Unto God—