#AmericanWriters
805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
I bet with every Wind that blew Till Nature in chagrin Employed a Fact to visit me And scuttle my Balloon -
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—
612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity
617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—
XVI TO fight aloud is very brave, But gallanter, I know, Who charge within the bosom, The cavalry of woe.
384 No Rack can torture me— My Soul—at Liberty— Behind this mortal Bone There knits a bolder One—
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
192 Poor little Heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little Heart!
She could not live upon the Past The Present did not know her And so she sought this sweet at la… And nature gently owned her The mother that has not a knell
1545 The Bible is an antique Volume— Written by faded men At the suggestion of Holy Spectre… Subjects—Bethlehem&mdash ;
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…
III SOUL, wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost, indeed, But tens have won an all.