I sing to use the waiting, My bonnet but to tie, And shut the door unto my house; No more to do have I, Till, his best step approaching, We journey to the day, And tell each other how we sang To keep the dark away.

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,One clover, and a bee,And revery.The revery alone will do,If bees are few.

I measure every Grief I meetWith narrow, probing, eyes __ wonder if It weighs like Mine __r has an Easier size.I wonder if They bore it long __r did it just begin __ could not tell the Date of Mine __t feels so old a pain __ wonder if it hurts to live __nd if They have to try __nd whether _ could They choose between __t would not be _ to die __ note that Some _ gone patient long __t length, renew their smile __n imitation of a LightThat has so little Oil __ wonder if when Years have piled __ome Thousands _ on the Harm __hat hurt them early _ such a lapseCould give them any Balm.

The past is not a package one can lay away.

Consciousness is the only home of which we know.

One need not be a chamber to be haunted,One need not be a house;The brain has corridors surpassingMaterial place.Far safer, of a midnight meetingExternal ghost,Than an interior confrontingThat whiter host.Far safer through an Abbey gallop,The stones achase,Than, moonless, one's own self encounterIn lonesome place.Ourself, behind ourself concealed,Should startle most; Assassin, hid in our apartment,Be horror's least.The prudent carries a revolver,He bolts the door,O'erlooking a superior spectreMore near.