That sacred Closet when you sweep – Entitled "Memory" – Select a reverential Broom – And do it silently.

Had I not seen the Sun I could have borne the shade But Light a newer Wilderness My Wilderness has made –

"You send sweet messages. Remembrance is more sweet than Robins in May orchards."

The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall –

"Love will not expire. There was never the instant when it was lifeless in the world …"

There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons – That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes –

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant – Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth's superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind –

I fear a Man of frugal Speech — I fear a Silent Man — Haranguer — I can overtake — Or Babbler — entertain — But He who weigheth — While the Rest — Expend their furthest pound — Of this Man — I am wary — I fear that He is Grand —

"It is the Meek that Valor wear too mighty for the Bold."

“ . . . I think of love, and you, and my heart grows full and warm, and my breath stands still.”

Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity – Unable they that love – to die For Love reforms Vitality Into Divinity.

It will be Summer – eventually.

“ . . . You will forgive me, for I never visit. I am from the fields, you know, and while quite at home with the Dandelion, make but a sorry figure in a Drawing – room – . . . “

Promise This—When You be Dying— Some shall summon Me— Mine belong Your latest Sighing— Mine—to Belt Your Eye— Not with Coins—though they be Minted From an Emperor's Hand— Be my lips—the only Buckle Your low Eyes—demand—

“My friends are my "estate." Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them!”

"If you were here . . . we need not talk at all, our eyes would whisper for us, and your hand fast in mine, we would not ask for language . . ."

A not admitting of the wound Until it grew so wide That all my Life had entered it

“Why the full heart is speechless, is one of the great wherefores."

March is the Month of Expectation.

Because I could not stop for Death— He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Ourselves— And Immortality.