| Introduction | |
| That love is all there is | p. 3 |
| Exultation is the going | p. 3 |
| I have never seen 'volcanoes' | p. 3 |
| An awful tempest mashed the air | p. 4 |
| It's such a little thing to weep | p. 4 |
| Safe in their alabaster chambers version of | p. 5 |
| There's a certain slant of light | p. 5 |
| I felt a funeral, in my brain | p. 6 |
| That after horror - that 'twas us | p. 6 |
| A clock stopped | p. 7 |
| How the old mountains drip with sunset | p. 8 |
| The soul selects her own society | p. 8 |
| The murmur of a bee | p. 9 |
| The mushroom is the elf of plants | p. 9 |
| He fumbles at your soul | p. 10 |
| I'll tell you how the sun rose | p. 11 |
| After great pain, a formal feeling comes | p. 11 |
| I dreaded that first robin, so | p. 12 |
| I went to heaven | p. 13 |
| I saw no way - the heavens were stitched | p. 13 |
| 'Twas like a maelstrom, with a notch | p. 13 |
| If what we could - were what we would | p. 14 |
| The months have ends - the years - a knot | p. 15 |
| The wind - tapped like a tired man | p. 15 |
| Sweet - safe - houses | p. 16 |
| I died for beauty - but was scarce | p. 16 |
| I heard a fly buzz - when I died | p. 17 |
| The red - blaze - is the morning | p. 17 |
| A solemn thing within the soul | p. 18 |
| Civilization - spurns - the leopard! | p. 18 |
| This world is not conclusion | p. 19 |
| It was not death, for I stood up | p. 19 |
| The soul has bandaged moments | p. 20 |
| Departed - to the judgment | p. 21 |
| I think the hemlock likes to stand | p. 21 |
| I tried to think a lonelier thing | p. 22 |
| The heart asks pleasure - first | p. 23 |
| I fear a man of frugal speech | p. 23 |
| One crucifixion is recorded - only | p. 23 |
| The brain, within its groove | p. 24 |
| It knew no lapse, nor diminution | p. 24 |
| There is a pain - so utter | p. 25 |
| A still - volcano - life | p. 25 |
| The brain - is wider than the sky | p. 25 |
| One need not be a chamber - to be haunted | p. 26 |
| The soul that hath a guest | p. 27 |
| I'll send the feather from my hat! | p. 27 |
| 'Speech' - is a prank of parliament | p. 27 |
| Victory comes late | p. 28 |
| I sometimes drop it, for a quick | p. 28 |
| Because I could not stop for death | p. 29 |
| Four trees - upon a solitary acre | p. 29 |
| Bloom upon the mountain -stated | p. 30 |
| My soul - accused me - and I quailed | p. 31 |
| My life had stood - a loaded gun | p. 31 |
| Presentiment - is that long shadow - on the lawn | p. 32 |
| The loneliness one dare not sound | p. 32 |
| Through the strait pass of suffering | p. 33 |
| When one has given up one's life | p. 33 |
| Banish air from air | p. 34 |
| As the starved maelstrom laps the navies | p. 34 |
| I stepped from plank to plank | p. 35 |
| Crisis is a hair | p. 35 |
| To my quick ear the leaves - conferred | p. 35 |
| Of consciousness, her awful mate | p. 36 |
| Fairer through fading - as the day | p. 36 |
| It is an honorable thought | p. 36 |
| The chemical conviction | p. 37 |
| A narrow fellow in the grass | p. 37 |
| There is no silence in the earth - so silent | p. 38 |
| Further in summer than the birds | p. 38 |
| The crickets sang | p. 39 |
| Shall I take thee, the poet said | p. 39 |
| The day grew small, surrounded tight | p. 40 |
| Great streets of silence led away | p. 40 |
| The clouds their backs together laid | p. 40 |
| The past is such a curious creature | p. 41 |
| A deed knocks first at thought | p. 41 |
| Like rain it sounded till it curved | p. 42 |
| To flee from memory | p. 42 |
| The butterfly in honored dust | p. 42 |
| To pile like thunder to its close | p. 43 |
| A wind that rose | p. 43 |
| I think that the root of the wind is water | p. 43 |
| It sounded as if the streets were running | p. 44 |
| Could mortal lip divine | p. 44 |
| A route of evanescence | p. 44 |
| How happy is the little stone | p. 45 |
| The life that tied too tight escapes | p. 45 |
| As imperceptibly as grief | p. 46 |
| Those - dying then | p. 46 |
| How slow the wind | p. 46 |
| There came a wind like a bugle | p. 47 |
| By homely gift and hindered words | p. 47 |
| A world made penniless by that departure | p. 47 |
| A drunkard cannot meet a cork | p. 48 |
| The right to perish might be thought | p. 48 |
| A face devoid of love or grace | p. 48 |
| Did life's penurious length | p. 49 |
| Drowning is not so pitiful | p. 49 |
| Love can do all but raise the dead | p. 49 |
| The waters chased him as he fled | p. 50 |
| The reticent volcano keeps | p. 50 |
| Experiment escorts us last | p. 50 |
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