887 We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer— Till it an Antique fashion shows— Like Costumes Grandsires wore.

71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—

‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us

844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,

XVII SHE rose to his requirement, drop… The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife.

The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,

You love the Lord—you cannot see— You write Him—every day— A little note—when you awake— And further in the Day. An Ample Letter—How you miss—

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

840 I cannot buy it—’tis not sold— There is no other in the World— Mine was the only one I was so happy I forgot

There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—

A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,