Till It Has Loved, No Man Or

I Never Lost As Much But Twice, And That Was In The Sod.

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.

The Soul Selects Her Own Society.

I Am One Of The Lingering Bad Ones, And So Do I Slink Away, And Pause, And Ponder, And Ponder, And Pause, And Do Work Without Knowing Why - Not Surely For This Brief World, And More Sure It Is Not For Heaven - And I Ask What This Message Of Christ Means.

That No Flake Of [snow] Fall On You Or Them - Is A Wish That Would Be A Prayer, Were Emily Not A Pagan.