143
For every Bird a Nest—
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking rou
Wherefore when boughs are free—

437
Prayer is the little implement
Through which Men reach
Where Presence—is denied them.
They fling their Speech

565
One Anguish’—in a Crowd’—
A Minor thing’—it sounds’—
And yet, unto the single Doe
Attempted of the Hounds

719
A South Wind—has a pathos
Of individual Voice—
As One detect on Landings
An Emigrant’s address.

63
If pain for peace prepares
Lo, what “Augustan” years
Our feet await!
If springs from winter rise,

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

Because I could not stop for Deat
He kindly stopped for me–
The Carriage held but just Oursel
And Immortality.
We slowly drove– He knew no haste

141
Some, too fragile for winter winds
The thoughtful grave encloses—
Tenderly tucking them in from fros
Before their feet are cold.

247
What would I give to see his face
I’d give—I’d give my life—of cour
But that is not enough!
Stop just a minute—let me think!

“Why do I love” You, Sir?
Because’—
The Wind does not require the Gra
To answer’—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.