#AmericanWriters
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—
Revolution is the Pod Systems rattle from When the Winds of Will are stirre… Excellent is Bloom But except its Russet Base
340 Is Bliss then, such Abyss, I must not put my foot amiss For fear I spoil my shoe? I’d rather suit my foot
II OUR share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
882 A Shade upon the mind there passe… As when on Noon A Cloud the mighty Sun encloses Remembering
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
61 Papa above! Regard a Mouse O’erpowered by the Cat! Reserve within thy kingdom
961 Wert Thou but ill—that I might sh… How long a Day I could endure Though thine attention stop not on… Nor the least signal, Me assure—
To make a prairie it takes a clove… One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
695 As if the Sea should part And show a further Sea— And that—a further—and the Three But a presumption be—
58 Delayed till she had ceased to kno… Delayed till in its vest of snow Her loving bosom lay— An hour behind the fleeting breath…
721 Behind Me’—dips Eternity’— Before Me’—Immortality’— Myself’—the Term between’— Death but the Drift of Eastern G…