Hope is the thing with feathers
It's all I have to bring today
I started early, took my dog
I hide myself withing my flower
Will there really be a morning?
I'll tell you how hte sun rose
She sweeps with many-colored brooms
I know some lonely houses off the road
The moon was but a chin of gold
Pink, small, and punctual
I like to see it lap the miles
A fuzzy fellow without feet
It sifts from leaden sieves
A narrow fellow in the grass
The grass so little has to do
A bird came down the walk
The bee is not afraid of me
A soft sea washed around the house
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee
Forbidden fruit a flavor has
The wind begun to rock the grass
The morns are meeker than they were
I have not told my garden yet
There is no frigate like a book
If I can stop one heart from breaking
