The Soul selects her own Society.

We do not play on Graves— Because there isn't Room— Besides—it isn't even—it slants And People come— And put a Flower on it— And hang their faces so— We're fearing that their Hearts will drop— And crush our pretty play— And so we move as far As Enemies—away— Just looking round to see how far It is—Occasionally—

I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me

I am nobody! Who are you? Are you a nobody, too?

I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!

To shut your eyes is to travel.

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege I think.