From the Book - First edition.
I started early-took my dog
Grass so little has to do
Make me a picture of the sun
She sweeps with many-colored brooms
Narrow fellow in the grass
Drop fell on the apple tree
He ate and drank the precious woods
I felt a funeral, in my brain
Success is counted sweetest
Hope is the thing with feathers
Because I could not stop for death
Tell all the truth but tell it slant
Thought went up my mind today
If I can stop one heart from breaking
These are the days when birds come back
There's a certain slant of light
God gave a loaf to every bird
Daisy follows soft the sun.
