My life had stood—a Loaded Gun—
In Corners—till a Day
The Owner passed—identified—
And carried Me away—
And now We roam in Sovereign Woo

950
The Sunset stopped on Cottages
Where Sunset hence must be
For treason not of His, but Life’
Gone Westerly, Today—

An everywhere of silver,
With ropes of sand
To keep it from effacing
The track called land.

Not with a club, the Heart is bro
Nor with a stone;
A whip, so small you could not see
I’ve known
To lash the magic creature

530
You cannot put a Fire out—
A Thing that can ignite
Can go, itself, without a Fan—
Upon the slowest Night—

I am alive’—I guess’—
The Branches on my Hand
Are full of Morning Glory’—
And at my finger’s end’—
The Carmine’—tingles warm’—

A Route of Evanescence
With a revolving Wheel—
A Resonance of Emerald—
A Rush of Cochineal—
And every Blossom on the Bush

336
The face I carry with me’—last’—
When I go out of Time’—
To take my Rank’—by’—in the West’
That face’—will just be thine’—

939
What I see not, I better see—
Through Faith—my Hazel Eye
Has periods of shutting—
But, No lid has Memory—

237
I think just how my shape will ris
When I shall be “forgiven”—
Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Hea
Are out of sight—in Heaven—