#AmericanWriters
XXXIII DARE you see a soul at the white… Then crouch within the door. Red is the fire’s common tint; But when the vivid ore
694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—
785 They have a little Odor—that to m… Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—
407 If What we could—were what we wou… Criterion—be small— It is the Ultimate of Talk— The Impotence to Tell—
XXI HE ate and drank the precious wor… His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was dust.
A chilly Peace infests the Grass The Sun respectful lies - Not any Trance of industry These shadows scrutinize - Whose Allies go no more astray
God permit industrious angels Afternoons to play. I met one,—forgot my school-mates, All, for him, straightaway. God calls home the angels promptly
8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables
1035 Bee! I’m expecting you! Was saying Yesterday To Somebody you know That you were due—
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
186 What shall I do—it whimpers so— This little Hound within the Hear… All day and night with bark and st… And yet, it will not go—
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By strech of limb or stir of lid,— An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?
830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod
Is it too late to touch you, Dear… We this moment knew - Love Marine and Love terrene - Love celestial too -