#AmericanWriters
124 In lands I never saw—they say Immortal Alps look down— Whose Bonnets touch the firmament… Whose Sandals touch the town—
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
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…
173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
My Garden’—like the Beach’— Denotes there be’—a Sea’— That’s Summer’— Such as These’—the Pearls She fetches’—such as Me
403 The Winters are so short— I’m hardly justified In sending all the Birds away— And moving into Pod—
559 It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—'twas not Pain—
697 I could bring You Jewels—had I a… But You have enough—of those— I could bring You Odors from St.… Colors—from Vera Cruz—
854 Banish Air from Air— Divide Light if you dare— They’ll meet While Cubes in a Drop
Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The Hour, and the Clime -
971 Robbed by Death—but that was easy… To the failing Eye I could hold the latest Glowing— Robbed by Liberty
553 One Crucifixion is recorded’—only… How many be Is not affirmed of Mathematics’— Or History’—
557 She hideth Her the last— And is the first, to rise— Her Night doth hardly recompense The Closing of Her eyes—
513 Like Flowers, that heard the news… But never deemed the dripping priz… Awaited their—low Brows— Or Bees—that thought the Summer’s…