Transplanted

Unto like Story—Trouble has enticed me

Suspense—is Hostiler than Death (705)

The Coming Of Night

This Dust, and its Feature (936)

The first Day that I was a Life

God is a distant—stately Lover (357)

Pain Has An Element

Dead

Split the Lark—and you’ll find the Music (861)

There is another sky

To own the Art within the Soul

Autumn — overlooked my Knitting

Alone, I cannot be (298)

Death

The Grave My Little Cottage Is

Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair! (64)

Letter 224 (August 1860) Susan Gilbert Dickinson

I live with Him—I see His face (463)

If I may have it, when it’s dead (577)

I never hear the word ‘escape’

4

We do not play on Graves

Went Up A Year This Evening!

Letter 259 (early April 1862) Samuel Bowles

Numen Lumen

If I shouldn’t be alive

Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him

24

42

Faith — is the Pierless Bridge

Letter 254 (March 1862?) - no ms. Frances Norcross

How noteless Men, and Pleiads, stand

This is My Letter to the World

’Tis customary as we part

Promise This—When You be Dying (648)

Bless God, he went as soldiers

Letter 342 (16 August 1870) T. W. Higginson

If recollecting were forgetting

’Twould ease — a Butterfly

Upon The Gallows Hung A Wretch

New feet within my garden go (99)

Letter 298 (1864?) - no ms. Louise and Frances Norcross

There’s a certain Slant of light

Love—is that later Thing than Death

Much Madness is divinest Sense

Nature rarer uses yellow

5

She dealt her pretty words like Blades (479)

Flowers — Well — if anybody