#AmericanWriters
592 What care the Dead, for Chanticle… What care the Dead for Day? ’Tis late your Sunrise vex their… And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun! Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass…
348 I would not paint — a picture — I'd rather be the One It's bright impossibility To dwell — delicious — on —
Is it too late to touch you, Dear… We this moment knew - Love Marine and Love terrene - Love celestial too -
LXII A DROP fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh.
83 Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home— As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune—
425 Good Morning’—Midnight’— I’m coming Home’— Day’—got tired of Me’— How could I’—of Him?
69 Low at my problem bending, Another problem comes— Larger than mine—Serener— Involving statelier sums.
A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!
358 If any sink, assure that this, now… Failed like Themselves—and consci… Grew by the Fact, and not the Und… How Weakness passed—or Force—aros…
710 The Sunrise runs for Both— The East—Her Purple Troth Keeps with the Hill— The Noon unwinds Her Blue
767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine