#AmericanWriters
On my volcano grows the Grass A meditative spot - An acre for a Bird to choose Would be the General thought - How red the Fire rocks below -
They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…
994 Partake as doth the Bee, Abstemiously. The Rose is an Estate— In Sicily.
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spum, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year,
Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,
The butterfly obtains But little sympathy Though favorably mentioned In Entomology - Because he travels freely
A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa… Conscious—as old Napoleon,
High from the earth I heard a bir… He trod upon the trees As he esteemed them trifles, And then he spied a breeze, And situated softly
45 There’s something quieter than sle… Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name.
599 There is a pain’—so utter’— It swallows substance up’— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
Whose Pink career may have a clos… Portentous as our own, who knows? To imitate these Neighbors fleet In awe and innocence, were meet.
966 All forgot for recollecting Just a paltry One— All forsook, for just a Stranger’… New Accompanying—
