155
The Murmur of a Bee
A Witchcraft—yieldeth me—
If any ask me why—
’Twere easier to die—

990
Not all die early, dying young—
Maturity of Fate
Is consummated equally
In Ages, or a Night—

315
He fumbles at your Soul
As Players at the Keys
Before they drop full Music on—
He stuns you by degrees—

541
Some such Butterfly be seen
On Brazilian Pampas—
Just at noon—no later—Sweet—
Then—the License closes—

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

It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down;
It was not night, for all the bell
Put out their tongues, for noon.
It was not frost, for on my flesh

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

26
It’s all I have to bring today—
This, and my heart beside—
This, and my heart, and all the fi
And all the meadows wide—

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.

The Black Berry’—wears a Thorn i
But no Man heard Him cry’—
He offers His Berry, just the sam
To Partridge’—and to Boy’—
He sometimes holds upon the Fence