#AmericanWriters
445 ’Twas just this time, last year,… I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms— It had the Tassels on—
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…
Warm in her Hand these accents li… While faithful and afar The Grace so awkward for her sake Its fond subjection wear -
383 Exhiliration—is within— There can no Outer Wine So royally intoxicate As that diviner Brand
81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.
No rack can torture me, My soul’s at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one You cannot prick with saw,
544 The Martyr Poets’—did not tell’— But wrought their Pang in syllabl… That when their mortal name be num… Their mortal fate’—encourage Some…
49 I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod. Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!
Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,
98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!
443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
818 I could not drink it, Sweet, Till You had tasted first, Though cooler than the Water was The Thoughtfullness of Thirst.
555 Trust in the Unexpected— By this—was William Kidd Persuaded of the Buried Gold— As One had testified—
703 Out of sight? What of that? See the Bird—reach it! Curve by Curve—Sweep by Sweep— Round the Steep Air—
