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Themself are all I have
There are two Ripenings
There came a Day – at Summer’s full
There came a Wind like a Bugle
There comes an hour when begging stops
There is a finished feeling
There is a flower that Bees prefer
There is a June when Corn is cut
There is a pain – so utter
There is a Shame of Nobleness
There is a solitude of space
There is a strength in proving that it can be borne
There is a word
There is another Loneliness
There is another sky
There is a Languor of the Life
There is no Frigate like a Book
There is no Silence in the Earth – so silent
There’s a certain Slant of light
There’s been a Death, in the Opposite House
There’s something quieter than sleep
There’s the Battle of Burgoyne
These Fevered Days – to take them to the Forest
These Strangers, in a foreign World
These tested Our Horizon
They ask but our Delight
They called me to the Window, for
They dropped like Flakes
They have a little Odor – that to me
“They have not chosen me,” he said
They leave us with the Infinite
They might not need me – Yet they might
They say that “Time assuages”
They shut me up in Prose
This – is the land – the Sunset washes
This Chasm, Sweet, opon my life
This Consciousness that is aware
This dirty – little – Heart
This docile one inter
This Dust, and it’s Feature
This heart that broke so long
This is a Blossom of the Brain
This is my letter to the World
This Me – that walks and works – must die
This Merit hath the Worst
This was a Poet – It is That
This was in the White of the Year
This World is not Conclusion
This quiet Dust was Gentlemen and Ladies
Tho’ I get home how late – how late
Tho’ my destiny be Fustian
Those – dying then
Those fair – fictitious People
Those who have been in the Grave the longest
Though the great Waters sleep
Three times – we parted – Breath – and I
Three Weeks passed since I had seen Her
Through lane it lay – thro’ bramble
Through the Dark Sod – as Education
Through the strait pass of suffering
Through what transports of Patience
Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord
Time does go on
‘T is so much joy! ‘T is so much joy!
‘Tis Anguish grander than Delight
‘Tis customary as we part
‘Tis easier to pity those when dead
‘Tis good – the looking back on Grief
‘Tis little I – could care for Pearls
‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so
‘Tis One by One – the Father counts
‘Tis Opposites – entice
‘Tis so appalling – it exhilarates
‘Tis true – They shut me in the Cold
Title divine – is mine

To be alive – is Power
To die – takes just a little while
To die – without the Dying
To fight aloud is very brave
To fill a Gap
To flee from memory
To hang our head – ostensibly
To hear an Oriole sing
To interrupt His Yellow Plan
To lose one’s faith – surpass
To love thee Year by Year
To make a prairie it takes
To make One’s Toilette – after Death
To mend each tattered Faith
To my quick ear the Leaves – conferred
To my small Hearth His fire came
To offer brave assistance
To One denied the drink
To own the Art within the Soul
To pile like Thunder to its close
To put this World down, like a Bundle
To see her is a Picture
To see the Summer Sky
To tell the Beauty would decrease
To this World she returned
To try to speak, and miss the way
To venerate the simple days
To wait an Hour – is long
To Whom the Mornings stand for Nights
Too cold is this
Too few the mornings be
Too happy Time dissolves itself
Too scanty ’twas to die for you
Triumph – may be of several kinds
Trudging to Eden, looking backward
Trust adjust her “Peradventure”
Trust in the Unexpected
Trusty as the stars
Truth – is as old as God
‘Twas awkward, but it fitted me
‘Twas comfort in her Dying Room
‘Twas Crisis – All the length had passed
‘Twas fighting for his Life he was
‘Twas just this time, last year, I died
‘Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch
‘Twas Love – not me
‘Twas my one Glory
‘Twas such a little – little boat
‘Twas the old – road – through pain
‘Twas warm – at first – like Us
Twice had Summer her fair Verdure
Two swimmers wrestled on the spar
Two Travellers perishing in Snow


Uncertain lease – develops lustre
Under the Light, yet under
Undue Significance a starving man attaches
Unit, like Death, for Whom?
Until the Desert knows
Unto a broken heart
Unto like Story – Trouble has enticed me
“Unto Me?” I do not know you
Unto my Books – so good to turn
Up Life’s Hill with my little Bundle
Upon his Saddle sprung a Bird