a sick room is at times too sacred a place for a friend's knock, timid as that is.

Portrait The world spreads out on either side no farther than the heart is wide.

I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there's a pair of us? Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one's name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!

To shut your eyes is to travel.

I tasted life.

Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.

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—