Page:The complete poems of Emily Dickinson, (IA completepoemsofe00dick 1).pdf/347

The grass so little has to do, —

1

The grave my little cottage is,

1

The healed Heart shows its shallow scar

1

The heart asks pleasure first,

1

The Hills erect their purple heads,

1

The incidents of Love

1

The inundation of the Spring

1

Their height in heaven comforts not,

1

The largest fire ever known

1

The last night that she lived,

1

The leaves, like women, interchange

1

The long sigh of the Frog

1

The Look of Thee, what is it like?

1

The luxury to apprehend

1

The missing All prevented me

1

The moon is distant from the sea,

1

The Moon upon her fluent route

1

The moon was but a chin of gold

1

The morns are meeker than they were,

1

The mountain sat upon the plain

1

The murmuring of bees has ceased;

1

The murmur of a bee

1

The mushroom is the elf of plants,

1

The nearest dream recedes, unrealized

1

The night was wide, and furnished scant

1

The Ones that disappeared are back,

1

The one that could repeat the summer day

1

The only ghost I ever saw

1

The overtakelessness of those

1

The past is such a curious creature,

1

The pedigree of honey

1

The props assist the house

1

The rat is the concisest tenant

1

There came a day at summer’s full

1

There came a wind like a bugle;

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There is a flower that bees prefer,

1

There is another Loneliness

1

There is a shame of nobleness

1

There is a solitude of space,

1

There is a word

1

There is no frigate like a book

1

There’s a certain slant of light,

1

There’s been a death in the opposite house

1

There’s something quieter than sleep

1

The reticent volcano keeps

1

The right to perish might be thought

1

The robin is the one

1