205
| I had not minded walls | 166 | |
| I know lives I could miss | 163 | |
| I make his crescent fill or lack, | 139 | |
| I never felt at home below, | 43 | |
| I pay in satin cash— | 70 | |
| I prayed at first—a little girl— | 45 | |
| I reckon, when I count at all, | 11 | |
| I rose because he sank. | 93 | |
| I should not dare to be so sad | 132 | |
| I tend my flowers for thee, | 141 | |
| I tie my hat, I crease my shawl, | 180 | |
| I took one draught of life, | 135 | |
| If he were living—dare I ask? | 173 | |
| If Nature smiles—the Mother must, | 63 | |
| I'm the little "Hearts' Ease!" | 69 | |
| Inconceivably solemn, | 131 | |
| It always felt to me a wrong | 46 | |
| It ceased to hurt me, though | 189 | |
| It feels a shame to be | 94 | |
| It is dead. Find it— | 96 | |
| It was a quiet way | 137 | |
| It was not Saint, | 121 | |
| It will be Summer eventually— | 195 | |
| It's coming—the postponeless Creature, | 110 | |
| It's easy to invent a life, | 41 | |
| Its hour with itself | 124 | |
| I've known a Heaven like a tent | 34 | |
| I've nothing else to bring, you know, | 68 | |
Joy to have merited the pain |
178 | |
| Just once! Oh, least request! | 202 | |
Life is what we make it, |
106 | |
| Longing is like the seed | 171 | |
| Love, thou art high, | 145 | |
