“How do most people live without any thought? There are many people in the world,--you must have noticed them in the street,--how do they live? How do they get strength to put on their clothes in the morning?”

“We do not play on Graves—Because there isn't Room—Besides—it isn't even—it slantsAnd People come—And put a Flower on it—And hang their faces so—We're fearing that their Hearts will drop—And crush our pretty play—And so we move as farAs Enemies—away—Just looking round to see how farIt is—Occasionally— ”

“I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time.The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets,The bobolinks begun.Then I said softly to myself,"That must have been the sun!”

“If you were coming in the fall,I'd brush the summer by,With half a smile and half a spurn,As housewives do a fly.If I could see you in a year,I'd wind the months in balls,And put them each in separate drawers,Until their time befalls.”

“Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.”

“I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell! They ’d banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!”

“Could you tell me how to grow--or is it unconveyed--like Melody--or Witchcraft?”