569 I reckon—when I count it all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—

UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…

430 It would never be Common—more—I s… Difference—had begun— Many a bitterness—had been— But that old sort—was done—

Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine

The dying need but little, dear,— A glass of water’s all, A flower’s unobtrusive face To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend’s regret,

A Sickness of this World it most… When Best Men die. A Wishfulness their far Condition To occupy. A Chief indifference, as Foreign

If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spum, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year,

724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—

XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.

558 But little Carmine hath her face— Of Emerald scant—her Gown— Her Beauty—is the love she doth— Itself—exhibit—Mine&md ash;

989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.

671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—

402 I pay—in Satin Cash— You did not state—your price— A Petal, for a Paragraph It near as I can guess—