#AmericanWriters
166 I met a King this afternoon! He had not on a Crown indeed, A little Palmleaf Hat was all, And he was barefoot, I’m afraid!
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
549 That I did always love I bring thee Proof That till I loved I never lived—Enough—
648 Promise This—When You be Dying— Some shall summon Me— Mine belong Your latest Sighing— Mine—to Belt Your Eye—
606 The Trees like Tassels—hit—and sw… There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying the Sun—
Because I could not stop for Deat… He kindly stopped for me– The Carriage held but just Oursel… And Immortality. We slowly drove– He knew no haste
264 A Weight with Needles on the poun… To push, and pierce, besides— That if the Flesh resist the Heft… The puncture—coolly tries—
134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil
806 A Planted Life—diversified With Gold and Silver Pain To prove the presence of the Ore In Particles—'tis when
825 An Hour is a Sea Between a few, and me— With them would Harbor be—
165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!
XI MUCH madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’T is the majority
Her final summer was it, And yet we guessed it not; If tenderer industriousness Pervaded her, we thought A further force of life
Who were “the Father and the Son” We pondered when a child, And what had they to do with us And when portentous told With inference appalling
929 How far is it to Heaven? As far as Death this way— Of River or of Ridge beyond Was no discovery.