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—

Action is redemption.

Till I loved I never lived.

I miss the grasshoppers much, but suppose it is all for the best. I should become too much attached to a trotting world.

Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true

Judge tenderly of me.

The Soul selects her own Society.