425 Good Morning—Midnight— I’m coming Home— Day—got tired of Me— How could I—of Him?

1035 Bee! I’m expecting you! Was saying Yesterday To Somebody you know That you were due—

349 I had the Glory—that will do— An Honor, Thought can turn her to When lesser Fames invite— With one long “Nay”—

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

830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod

Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,

921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.

893 Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb— Or Dome of Worm— Or Porch of Gnome—

556 The Brain, within its Groove Runs evenly—and true— But let a Splinter swerve— ’Twere easier for You—

923 How the Waters closed above Him We shall never know— How He stretched His Anguish to… That—is covered too—

213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?

215 What is – “Paradise” – Who live there – Are they “Farmers” – Do they “hoe” –

167 To learn the Transport by the Pai… As Blind Men learn the sun! To die of thirst—suspecting That Brooks in Meadows run!