In the name of the Bee --The morns are meeker than they were -- An altered look about the hills -- These are the days when birds come back -- Sade in their alabaster chambers -- Our lives are Swiss -- Did the harebell loose her girdle -- To fight aloud, is very brave -- I have never seen "volcanoes" -- A wounded deer leaps highest -- Through the straight pass of suffering -- Title divine, is mine -- I'll tell you how the sun rose -- An awful tempest mashed the air -- He forgot and I remembered -- Some keep the Sabbath going to church -- How many times these low feet staggered -- Bound a trouble and lives will bear it -- That after horror that 'twas us -- The robin's my criterion for tune -- A clock stopped -- Wild nights wild nights! -- Civilization spurns the leopard! -- Of all the souls that stand create -- The zeros taught us phosphorus -- My first well day since many ill -- It sifts from leaden sieves -- A weight with needles on the pounds -- a shady friend for torrid days -- I can wade grief -- "Hope" is the thing with feathers -- Of bronze and blaze -- There's a certain slant of light -- There came a day at summer's full -- He put the belt around my life -- Of nearness to her sundered things -- I felt a funeral in my brain -- 'Tis so appalling it exhilarates -- I would not paint a picture -- She sights a bird she chuckles -- It was not death for I stood up -- A bird, came down he walk -- The soul has bandaged moments -- I know that he exists -- After great pain a formal feeling comes -- This world is not conclusion -- I like to see it lap the miles -- Dare you see a souls at the "white heat"? -- One need not be a chamber to be haunted -- The soul selects her own society -- There are two ripenings -- The first day's night had come -- 'Twas like a maelstrom, with a notch -- A charm invests a face -- I had been hungry all the years -- It would have starved a gnat -- This was a poet -- I died for beauty but was scarce -- The outer from the inner -- I dwell in possibility -- Because I could not stop for death -- There is a pain so utter -- A still volcano life -- This is my letter to the world -- It feels a shame to be alive -- 'Tis not that dying hurts us so -- I reckon when I count at all -- I measure every grief I meet -- A visitor in Marl -- The angle of a landscape -- We dream it is good we are dreaming -- The heart asks pleasure first -- I heard a fly buzz when I died -- God is a distant stately lover -- Much madness is divinest sense -- I saw no way the heavens were stitched -- To fill a gap -- Rehearsal to ourselves -- What soft cherubic creatures -- It makes no difference abroad -- The tint I cannot take is best -- The way I read a letter's this -- I cannot live with you -- They put us far apart -- The props assist the house -- On a columnar self -- It's easy to invent a life -- Pain has an element of blank -- My life had stood a loaded gun -- Essential oils are wrung -- Four trees upon a solitary acre -- Renunciation is a piercing virtue -- Publication is the auction -- Growth of man like growth of nature -- The wind begun to rock the grass --

I never saw a moor

The admirations and contempts of time

Color caste denomination

She rose to his requirement dropt

They say that "time assuages"

I felt a cleaving in my mind

Further in summer than the birds

Split the lark and you'll find the music

I stepped from plank to plank

The poets light but lamps

As imperceptibly as grief

A light exists in spring

Bee! I'm expecting you!

He scanned it staggered

Crumbling is not an instant's act

Bloom is result to meet a flower

As the starved maelstrom laps the navies

A narrow fellow in the grass

Ashes denote that fire was

The last night that she lived

The sky is low the clouds are mean

The murmuring of bees has ceased

These are the nights that beetles love

A spider sewed at night

The bone that has no marrow

Shall I take thee, the poet said

Tell all the truth but tell it slant

A word dropped careless on a page

Now I knew I lost her

The things we thought that we should do

Art thou the thing I wanted?

I never hear that one is dead

Abraham to kill him

Wonder is not precisely knowing

The rat is the concisest tenant

Those cattle smaller than a bee

Long years apart can make no

The bat is dun, with wrinkled wings

Lay this laurel on the one

The road was lit with moon and star

A route of evanescence

The fascinating chill that music leaves

'Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe

Mine enemy is growing old

The Bible is an antique volume

Those dying then

He ate and drank the precious words

There came a wind like a bugle

Apparently with no surprise

A word made flesh is seldom

In winter in my room

The waters chased him as he fled

'Twas here my summer paused

My life closed twice before its close;

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee.