#AmericanWriters
275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—
984 ’Tis Anguish grander than Delight ’Tis Resurrection Pain— The meeting Bands of smitten Face We questioned to, again.
This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.
380 There is a flower that Bees prefe… And Butterflies—desire— To gain the Purple Democrat The Humming Bird—aspire—
168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!
I had been hungry all the years– My noon had come, to dine– I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. ‘T was this on tables I had seen
Why – do they shut Me out of Heav… Did I sing – too loud? But – I can say a little “minor” Timid as a Bird! Wouldn’t the Angels try me –
904 Had I not This, or This, I said, Appealing to Myself, In moment of prosperity— Inadequate—were Life—
A light exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here A color stands abroad
723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—
34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—
890 From Us She wandered now a Year, Her tarrying, unknown, If Wilderness prevent her feet Or that Ethereal Zone
866 Fame is the tine that Scholars le… Upon their Setting Names— The Iris not of Occident That disappears as comes—