She died--this was the way she died; and when her breath was done, took up her simple wardrobe and started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate the angels must have spied, since I could never find her upon the mortal side.
This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me,-- the simple news that Nature told, with tender majesty. Her message is committed to hands I cannot see; for love of her, sweet countrymen, judge tenderly of me!
The Heart is the Capital of the Mindâ€” The Mind is a single Stateâ€” The Heart and the Mind together make A single Continentâ€” Oneâ€”is the Populationâ€” Numerous enoughâ€” This ecstatic Nation Seekâ€”it is Yourself.
The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride, night unto day is married, morn unto eventide, earth a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true, and Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.
It's all I have to bring today this and my heart beside this and my heart and all the fields and all the meadows wide be sure to count should I forget someone the sum could tell this and my heart and all the bees which in the clovers dwell.
Mine Enemy is growing old -- I have at last Revenge --the Palate of the Hate departs â€“ if any would avenge. Let him be quick -- the Viand flits -- it is a faded Meat -- anger as soon as fed is dead -- 'tis starving makes it fat.
Of 'shunning Men and Women' â€” they talk of Hallowed things, aloud â€” and embarrass my Dog â€” He and I dont object to them, if they'll exist their side. I think Carlo would please you â€” He is dumb, and brave â€” I think you would like the Chestnut Tree, I met in my walk. It hit my notice suddenly â€” and I thought the Skies were in Blossom â€”
Softened by Time's consummate plush, how sleek the woe appears that threatened childhood's citadel and undermined the years! Bisected now by bleaker griefs, we envy the despair that devastated childhood's realm, so easy to repair.
This quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies, and Lads and Girls; was laughter and ability and sighing, and frocks and curls. This passive place a Summer's nimble mansion, where Bloom and Bees fulfilled their Oriental Circuit, then ceased like these.
Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.
Whose fingers string the stalactite- who counts the Wampum of the night.