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Except for Angels—lone.Except to some wide-wandering BeeA flower superfluous blown.Except for winds—provincial.Except by ButterfliesUnnoticed as a single dewThat on the Acre lies.The smallest Housewife in the grass,Yet take her from the LawnAnd somebody has lost the faceThat made Existence—Home!

Do it not displayLarger for the Totalness—‘Tis EconomyTo bestow a WorldAnd withhold a Star—Utmost, is Munificence—Less, tho’ larger, poor.

On TimeUncertain Grasp, appreciationOf Sum—The shorter Fate—is oftener the chiefestBecauseInheritors upon a tenurePrize—

With different Delight—Because—when next it burns abroadThey doubt to witness it—The Man—to die—tomorrow—Harks for the Meadow Bird—Because its Music stirs the AxeThat clamors for his head—Joyful—to whom the SunrisePrecedes Enamored—Day—Joyful—for whom the Meadow BirdHas ought but Elegy!

To the lover BeeWould the Bee the Harebell hallowMuch as formerly?Did the ‘Paradise’—persuaded—Yi eld her moat of pearl—Would the Eden be an Eden,Or the Earl—an Earl?

How ignorant I had beenOf pretty ways of Covenant—How awkward at the HymnRound our new Fireside—but for this—This pattern—of the Way—Whose Memory drowns me, like the DipOf a Celestial Sea—What Mornings in our Garden—guessed—What Bees—for us—to hum—With only Birds to interruptThe Ripple of our Theme—And Task for Both—When Play be done—Your Problem—of the Brain—And mine—some…