Hope is the thing with feathers -- It's all I have to bring today -- I started early, took my dog -- I'm nobody! Who are you? -- I hide myself within my flower -- I dwell in possibility -- Will there really be a morning? -- I'll tell you how the sun rose -- She sweeps with many colored brooms.
I know some lonely houses off the road -- Moon was but a chin of gold -- Pink, small, and punctual -- His bill an auger is -- Everywhere of silver -- I like to see it lap the miles -- Fuzzy fellow without feet -- It sifts from leaden sieves -- Narrow fellow in the grass.
Dear March, come in! -- Bee, I'm expecting you! -- Grass so little has to do -- Bird come down and walk -- Bee is not afraid of me -- Soft sea washed around the house -- To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee -- Pedigree of honey -- Forbidden fruit a flavor has.
Wind begun to rock the grass -- Morns are meeker than they were -- I have not told my garden yet -- My river runs to thee -- I never say moor -- There is no frigate like a book -- If I can stop one heart from breaking -- Word is dead -- In this short life.
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