We never know we go, — when we are going We jest and shut the door; Fate following behind us bolts it, And we accost no more. - Emily Dickinson

The sun just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.

Good Morning — Midnight — I'm coming Home — Day — got tired of Me — How could I — of Him?

Sunshine was a sweet place — I liked to stay — But Morn — didn't want me — now — So — Goodnight — Day!

I can look — can't I — When the East is Red?
The Hills — have a way — then — That puts the Heart — abroad — You — are not so fair — Midnight — I chose — Day — But — please take a little Girl — He turned away!

XXXVII. The dying need but little, dear, — A glass of water's all, A flower's unobtrusive face To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend's regret, And certainly that one No color in the rainbow Perceives when you are gone.