#AmericanWriters
634 You’ll know Her—by Her Foot— The smallest Gamboge Hand With Fingers—where the Toes shoul… Would more affront the Sand—
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
To make a prairie it takes a clove… One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
399 A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached—
446 I showed her Heights she never sa… “Would’st Climb,” I said? She said—"Not so"— “With me—” I said—With me?
244 It is easy to work when the soul i… But when the soul is in pain— The hearing him put his playthings… Makes work difficult—then—
119 Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of “Potose,” and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines!
This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…
14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.
803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—
218 Is it true, dear Sue? Are there two? I shouldn’t like to come For fear of joggling Him!
1545 The Bible is an antique Volume— Written by faded men At the suggestion of Holy Spectre… Subjects—Bethlehem&mdash ;
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—
293 I got so I could take his name— Without—Tremendous gain— That Stop-sensation—on my Soul— And Thunder—in the Room—