#AmericanWriters
392 Through the Dark Sod—as Educatio… The Lily passes sure— Feels her white foot—no trepidatio… Her faith—no fear—
886 These tested Our Horizon— Then disappeared As Birds before achieving A Latitude.
So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
119 Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of “Potose,” and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines!
415 Sunset at Night—is natural— But Sunset on the Dawn Reverses Nature—Master— So Midnight's—due—at Noon.
The Hills erect their Purple Hea… The Rivers lean to see Yet Man has not of all the Throng A Curiosity.
50 I haven’t told my garden yet— Lest that should conquer me. I haven’t quite the strength now To break it to the Bee—
192 Poor little Heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little Heart!
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry....
359 I gained it so— By Climbing slow— By Catching at the Twigs that gro… Between the Bliss—and me—
I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet now I know how the heather lo… And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God,
590 Did you ever stand in a Cavern’s… Widths out of the Sun— And look—and shudder, and block yo… And deem to be alone
776 The Color of a Queen, is this— The Color of a Sun At setting—this and Amber— Beryl—and this, at Noon—