A slash of blue
As watchers hang opon the east
Before he comes
Besides the autumn poets sing
Emily Dickinson letter to Samuel Bowles
I stole them from a bee
I'll send the feather from my hat
If recollecting were forgetting
If she had been the mistletoe
Just once oh least request
Just to be rich
No wilderness can be
So glad we are a stranger'd deem
The juggler's hat her country is
The soul unto itself
While asters