924 Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself—

263 Is all that pins the Soul That stands for Deity, to Mine, Upon my side the Veil— Once witnessed of the Gauze—

83 Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home— As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune—

They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the June A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…

786 Severer Service of myself I—hastened to demand To fill the awful Vacuum Your life had left behind—

655 Without this—there is nought— All other Riches be As is the Twitter of a Bird— Heard opposite the Sea—

71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—

576 I prayed, at first, a little Girl… Because they told me to— But stopped, when qualified to gue… How prayer would feel—to me—

An Antiquated Tree Is cherished of the Crow Because that Junior Foliage is di… To venerable Birds Whose Corporation Coat

The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back

606 The Trees like Tassels—hit—and sw… There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying the Sun—

A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,