#AmericanWriters
March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
90 Within my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered thro’ the village—
347 When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair—
168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!
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,
869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid
479 She dealt her pretty words like B… How glittering they shone— And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone—
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning— and untouched by noon— Sleep the meek members of the Res… Rafter of Satin and Roof of Ston…
257 Delight is as the flight— Or in the Ratio of it, As the Schools would say— The Rainbow’s way—
1540 As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away— Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy—
237 I think just how my shape will ris… When I shall be “forgiven”— Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Hea… Are out of sight—in Heaven—
30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
Of Brussels—it was not— Of Kidderminster? Nay— The Winds did buy it of the Woods… They—sold it unto me It was a gentle price—
I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry…