141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.

702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—

803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—

373 I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way— And so I deck, a little,

171 Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now!

The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes

The day came slow, till five o’clo… Then sprang before the hills, Like hindered rubies, or the light… A sudden musket spills. The purple could not keep the east…

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

FORBIDDEN fruit a flavor has That lawful orchards mocks; How luscious lies the pea within The pod that Duty locks!

They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…

951 As Frost is best conceived By force of its Result— Affliction is inferred By subsequent effect—

855 To own the Art within the Soul The Soul to entertain With Silence as a Company And Festival maintain