To make a prairie
It takes clover and one bee
One clover, and a bee, and revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
The Path of Life
Because I could not stop for Death-
He kindly stopped for me-
The Carriage held but just Ourselves-
And Immortality.
We slowly drove- He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For his Civility-
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess- in the Ring-
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain-
We passed the Setting Sun-
Or rather- He passed Us-
The Dews drew quivering and chill
For only Gossamer, my Gown-
My Tippet- only Tulle-
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground-
The Roof was scarcely visible-
The Cornice- in the Ground-
Since then- ’tis Centuries-and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity-
Days of Beauty
When days of Beauty deck the earth
Or stormy nights descend
How well my spirit knows the path
On which it ought to wend
It seeks the consecrated spot
Beloved in childhood’s years
The space between is all forgot
Its suffering and its tears
This Summer Evening
I know not how it falls on me
This summer evening, hushed and lone
Yet the faint wind comes soothingly
With something of an olden tone
Forgive me if I’ve shunned so long
Your gentle greeting earth and air
But sorrow withers even the strong
And who can fight against despair