346 Not probable—The barest Chance— A smile too few—a word too much And far from Heaven as the Rest— The Soul so close on Paradise—

927 Absent Place—an April Day— Daffodils a-blow Homesick curiosity To the Souls that snow—

513 Like Flowers, that heard the news… But never deemed the dripping priz… Awaited their—low Brows— Or Bees—that thought the Summer’s…

To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn’t hurt— It’s only fainter—by degrees— And then—it’s out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—

736 Have any like Myself Investigating March, New Houses on the Hill descried— And possibly a Church—

348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—

I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come,

881 I’ve none to tell me to but Thee So when Thou failest, nobody. It was a little tie— It just held Two, nor those it he…

763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—

284 The Drop, that wrestles in the Se… Forgets her own locality— As I—toward Thee— She knows herself an incense small…