#AmericanWriters
535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
September’s Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets– Crows– and Retros… And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming -
673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…
469 The Red—Blaze—is the Morning— The Violet—is Noon— The Yellow—Day—is falling— And after that—is none—
373 I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way— And so I deck, a little,
The Butterfly in honored Dust Assuredly will lie But none will pass the Catacomb So chastened as the Fly -
987 The Leaves like Women interchange Exclusive Confidence— Somewhat of nods and somewhat Portentous inference.
267 Did we disobey Him? Just one time! Charged us to forget Him— But we couldn’t learn!
Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion
363 I went to thank Her— But She Slept— Her Bed—a funneled Stone— With Nosegays at the Head and Fo…
XXXVI I NEVER hear the word “escape” Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude.
165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!
LXXIII I ’LL tell you how the sun rose,— A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.
950 The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Sunset hence must be For treason not of His, but Life’… Gone Westerly, Today—