| 'T was just this time last year I died. |
| A Bird Came Down |
| A Clock Stopped -- Not The Mantel's |
| A door just opened on a street |
| A drop fell on the apple tree |
| A light exists in spring |
| A little road not made man |
| A long, long sleep, a famous sleep |
| A narrow fellow in the grass |
| A shady friend for torrid days |
| A thought went up my mind to-day |
| After a hundred years |
| After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes |
| Ample make this bed. |
| An everywhere of silver, |
| Because I could not stop for Death, |
| Before you thought of spring, |
| Death sets a thing of signigicant |
| Delight becomes pictorial |
| Departed to the judgment, |
| Each life converges to some centre |
| Elysium is as far as to |
| First Robin |
| For each ecstatic instant |
| God gave a loaf to every bird, |
| God made a little gentian; |
| God permit industrious angels |
| Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him-- |
| Good night! which put the candle out? |
| He fumbles at your spirit |
| Heaven is what I cannot reach! |
| Her final summer was it, |
| Hope is the thing with feathers |
| I breathed enough to learn the trick, |
| I cannot live with you, |
| I died for beauty but was scarce |
| I felt a cleaving in my mind |
| I felt a funeral in my brain, |
| I found the phrase to every thought |
| I had been hungry all the years- |
| I had no time to hate, because |
| I heard a fly buzz when I died; |
| I know a place where summer strives |
| I like to see it lap the miles, |
| I lived on dread; to those who know |
| I measure every grief I meet |
| I ment to find her when I came; |
| I never hear the word "escape" |
| I never saw a moor, |
| I stepped from plank to plank |
| I taste a liquor never brewed |
| I went to heaven,-- |
| I years had been from home, |
| I'll tell you how the sun rose, -- |
| I'm nobody! Who are you? |
| If I can stop one heart from breaking, |
| If you were coming in the fall, |
| It dropped so low in my regard |
| It is an honorable thought, |
| It struck me every day |
| It was not death, for I stood up, |
| It's All I have to bring to-day, |
| It's like the light, -- |
| Like trains of cars on tracks of plush |
| Me! Come! My dazzled face |
| My life closed twice before its close; |
| My nosegays are for captives; |
| Nature rarer uses yellow |
| Nature, the gentlest mother, |
| Not in this world to see his face |
| Of all the souls that stand create |
| One need not be a chamber to be haunted, |
| Our journey had advanced; |
| Pain has an element of blank; |
| Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn |
| Safe in their alabaster chambers, |
| She rose to his requirement, dropped |
| She sweeps with many-colored brooms, |
| So bashful when I spied her, |
| So proud she was to die |
| Success is Counted Sweetest |
| The braind within its groove |
| The bustle in a house |
| The cricket sang |
| The day came slow, till five o' clock |
| The dying need but little, dear,-- |
| The heart asks pleasure first |
| The nearest dream recedes, unrealized. |
| The only ghost I ever saw |
| The pedigree of honey |
| The show is not the show, |
| The sky is low, the clouds are mean, |
| The thought beneath so slight a film |
| The White Heat |
| The wind begun to rock the grass |
| The wind trapped like a tired man, |
| There is no frigate like a book |
| There's a certain slant of light, |
| There's been a death in the opposite house |
| They dropped like flakes |
| They say that 'time assuages,'-- |
| This is my letter to the world, |
| This is the land the sunset washes, |
| Tie the strings to my life, my Lord, |
| To my quick ear the leaves conferred; |
| Two butterflies went out at noon |
| Victory comes late, |
| We like march, his shoes are purple, |
| We outgrow love like other things |
| We play at paste, |
| Wild Nights! Wild Nights! |
| Woodpecker, The |
| You left me, sweet, two legacies,-- |
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