The Steeples Swam In Amethyst, The News

A Narrow Fellow In The Grass Occasionally Rides

Because I Could Not Stop For Death, He Kindly Stopped For Me; The Carriage Held But Just Ourselves And Immortality. We Slowly Drove, He Knew No Haste, And I Had Put Away My Labour, And My Leisure Too, For His Civility. We Passed The School Where Children Played, Their Lessons Scarcely Done; We Passed The Fields Of Gazing Grain, We Passed The Setting Sun. We Paused Before A House That Seemed A Swelling Of The Ground; The Roof Was Scarcely Visible, The Cornice But A Mound. Since Then 'tis Centuries; But Each Feels Shorter Than The Day I First Surmised The Horses' Heads Were Toward Eternity.

Mirth Is The Mail Of Anguish --

I Hope Your Rambles Have Been Sweet, And Your Reveries Spacious

A Color Stands Abroad On Solitary Hills That Silence Cannot Overtake, But Human Nature Feels.