A Wounded Deer Leaps The

A Dominie In Gray-- Put Gently Up The Evening Bars-- And Led The Flock Away

His Labor Is A Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, For A Bee's Experience Of Clovers, And Of Noon!

We Never Know We Go When We Are Going- We Jest And Shut The Door- Fate-following-behind Us Bolts It- And We Accost No More-.

My Best Acquaintances Are Those With Whom I Spoke No Word

I See Thee Better In The Dark I Do Not Need A Light.