A drop fell on the apple tree
A narrow fellow in the grass
A poor torn heart, a tattered heart
A something in a summer's day
A thought went up my mind to-day
A toad can die of light! A word is dead
A wounded deer leaps highest adrift! A little boat adrift!
After great pain, a formal feeling comes
All the letters I can write alter? When the hills do
Ample make this bed apparently with no surprise
As imperceptible as grief Beauty
Because I could not stop for Death
Death is a dialogue between drab habitation of whom
Drowning is not so pitiful each that we lose takes part of us
Eden is that old fashioned house Exultation is the going
Fame is a fickle food finite to fail but infinite to venture
Forbidden fruit a flavor has forever
Glee! The great storm is over
He ate and drank the precious words he fumbles at your Soul
He touched me, so I live to know
Heart not so heavy as mine
Heart! We will forget him! Heaven is what I cannot reach!
Her final summer was it hope is a subtle glutton
Hope is the thing with feathers how happy is the little Stone
How the old Mountains drip with Sunset
I asked no other thing I bring an unaccustomed wine
I died for beauty, but was scarce
I dreaded that first Robin, so
I envy seas whereon he rides
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain
I had no cause to be awake
I had no time to hate, because I have never seen "Volcanoes"
I have no life but this I hear a fly buzz when I died
I hide myself within my flower I know a place where summer strives
I know some lonely houses off the road
I many times thought peace had come I meant to find her when I came
I meant to have but modest needs
I should not dare to leave my friend
I stepped from plank to plank
I taste a liquor never brewed
I think the hemlock likes to stand
I took my power in my hand I went to heaven
If I can stop one heart from breaking If I may have it when it's dead
If recollecting were forgetting If you were coming in the fall
I'll tell you how the Sun rose
I'm nobody! Who are you? Is Heaven a physician?
It might be easier it sounded as if the streets were running
It was not Death, for I stood up
It's such a little thing to weep like rain it sounded till it curved
Love is anterior to life luck is not chance
Mine by the right of the white election! Mine enemy is growing old
Much madness is divinest sense my life closed twice before its close
My life had stood-a loaded gun
Nature rarer uses yellow not knowing when the dawn will come
Not with a club, the heart is broken of all the souls that stand create
One blessing had I, than the rest
One need not be a chamber-to be haunted
Pain has an element of blank proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers she died-this was the way she died
Some keep the Sabbath going to church success is counted sweetest
Surgeons must be very careful tell all the truth but tell it slant
That I did always love that love is all there is
The brain within its groove the day came slow till five o'clock
The dying need but little, Dear
The grass so little has to do
The grave my little cottage is the heart asks pleasure first
The leaves, like women, interchange the moon is distant from the sea
the one that could repeat the summer day the pedigree of honey
The rat is the concisest tenant
The soul has bandaged moments
The soul should always stand ajar the spider as an artist
The waters chased him as he fled
The way I read a letter's this
The wind begun to rock the grass
There came a wind like a bugle
there is no frigate like a book
There's a certain slant of light
There's been a death in the opposite house
They might not need me-yet they might they say that 'time assuages'
this is my letter to the world
This world is not conclusion
"Tis little I could care for pearls
"Tis not the dying hurts us so to make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee
'Twas like a maelstrom, with a notch
Unable are the loved to die we never know how high we are
We never know we go,-when are we going what if I say I shall not wait?
What inn is this where thou art-that
While I was fearing it, it came wild nights! Wild nights!
Will there really be a morning?
You left me, sweet, two legacies.
