Dear common flower, that grow’st beside the way,
Dear M. ——­ By way of saving time,
Dear Sir,—­You wish to know my notions,
Dear Sir,—­Your letter come to han’,
Dear Wendell, why need count the years,
Death never came so nigh to me before,
Don’t believe in the Flying Dutchman? 
Down ’mid the tangled roots of things,

Ef I a song or two could make,
Entranced I saw a vision in the cloud,
Ere pales in Heaven the morning star,

Fair as a summer dream was Margaret,
Far over Elf-land poets stretch their sway,
Far through the memory shines a happy day,
Far up on Katahdin thou towerest,
Far ’yond this narrow parapet of Time,
Fit for an Abbot of Theleme,
For this true nobleness I seek in vain,
Frank-hearted hostess of the field and wood,
From the close-shut windows gleams no spark,
Full oft the pathway to her door,

Giddings, far rougher names than thine have grown,
Go! leave me, Priest; my soul would be,
God! do not let my loved one die,
God makes sech nights, all white an’ still,
God sends his teachers unto every age,
Godminster?  Is it Fancy’s play? 
Gold of the reddening sunset, backward thrown,
Gone, gone from us! and shall we see,
Great soul, thou sittest with me in my room,
Great truths are portions of the soul of man,
Guvener B. is a sensible man,

He came to Florence long ago,
He spoke of Burns:  men rude and rough,
He stood upon the world’s broad threshold; wide,
He who first stretched his nerves of subtile wire,
Heaven’s cup held down to me I drain,
Here once my step was quickened,
Here we stan’ on the Constitution, by thunder! 
Hers all that Earth could promise or bestow,
Hers is a spirit deep, and crystal-clear,
How strange are the freaks of memory! 
How struggles with the tempest’s swells,
How was I worthy so divine a loss,
Hushed with broad sunlight lies the hill,

I am a man of forty, sirs, a native of East Haddam,
I ask not for those thoughts, that sudden leap,
I call as fly the irrevocable hours,
I cannot think that thou shouldst pass away,
I christened you in happier days, before,
I could not bear to see those eyes,
I did not praise thee when the crowd,
I do not come to weep above thy pall,
I don’t much s’pose, hows’ever I should plen it,
I du believe in Freedom’s cause,
I go to the ridge in the forest,
I grieve not that ripe knowledge takes away,
I had a little daughter,
I have a fancy:  how shall I bring it,
I hed it on my min’ las’ time, when I to write ye started,
I know a falcon swift and peerless,
I love to start out arter night’s begun,
I need not praise the sweetness of his song,
I rise, Mr. Chairman, as both of us know,
I sat and watched the walls of night,
I sat one evening in my room,
I saw a Sower walking slow,
I saw the twinkle of white feet,