#AmericanWriters
682 'Twould ease — a Butterfly — Elate — a Bee — Thou'rt neither — Neither — thy capacity —
369 She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon—
907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—
809 Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity— Unable they that love—to die
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
Going to him! Happy letter! Tell… Tell him the page I didn’t write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun… Tell him just how the fingers hurr…
LXII A DROP fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh.
The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,
428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—
229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near
980 Purple—is fashionable twice— This season of the year, And when a soul perceives itself To be an Emperor.
366 Although I put away his life— An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear… This might have been the Hand
129 Cocoon above! Cocoon below! Stealthy Cocoon, why hide you so What all the world suspect? An hour, and gay on every tree
742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—
339 I tend my flowers for thee— Bright Absentee! My Fuchsia’s Coral Seams Rip—while the Sower—dreams—