There cam a Wind like a Bugle - It quivered through the Grass And a Green Chill upon the Heat So ominous did pass We barred the Windows and the Doo…

782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—

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

12 The morns are meeker than they wer… The nuts are getting brown— The berry’s cheek is plumper— The Rose is out of town.

Remorse– is Memory– awake - Her Parties all astir - A Presence of Departed Acts - At window– and at Door – Its Past - set down before the S…

The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—

Not in this world to see his face Sounds long, until I read the pla… Where this is said to be But just the primer to a life Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,

161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—

194 On this long storm the Rainbow ro… On this late Morn—the Sun— The clouds—like listless Elephant… Horizons—straggled down—

423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—

The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more. Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s p…