#AmericanWriters
576 I prayed, at first, a little Girl… Because they told me to— But stopped, when qualified to gue… How prayer would feel—to me—
453 Love — thou art high — I cannot climb thee — But, were it Two — Who knows but we —
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
861 Split the Lark—and you’ll find th… Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled… Scantilly dealt to the Summer Mor… Saved for your Ear when Lutes be…
MY cocoon tightens, colors tease, I 'm feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be
LIX I TOOK my power in my hand And went against the world; ’T was not so much as David had, But I was twice as bold.
They say that ‘time assuages,’— Time never did assuage; An actual suffering strengthens, As sinews do, with age. Time is a test of trouble,
386 Answer July— Where is the Bee— Where is the Blush— Where is the Hay?
121 As Watchers hang upon the East, As Beggars revel at a feast By savory Fancy spread— As brooks in deserts babble sweet
376 Of Course—I prayed— And did God Care? He cared as much as on the Air A Bird—had stamped her foot—
68 Ambition cannot find him. Affection doesn’t know How many leagues of nowhere Lie between them now.
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
622 To know just how He suffered—woul… To know if any Human eyes were ne… To whom He could entrust His wave… Until it settle broad—on Paradise…