#AmericanWriters
420 You’ll know it—as you know ’tis N… By Glory— As you do the Sun— By Glory—
The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day
748 Autumn—overlooked my Knitting— Dyes—said He—have I— Could disparage a Flamingo— Show Me them—said I—
716 The Day undressed—Herself— Her Garter—was of Gold— Her Petticoat—of Purple plain— Her Dimities—as old
698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—
825 An Hour is a Sea Between a few, and me— With them would Harbor be—
230 We—Bee and I—live by the quaffing… ’Tisn’t all Hock—with us— Life has its Ale— But it’s many a lay of the Dim Bu…
481 The Himmaleh was known to stoop Unto the Daisy low— Transported with Compassion That such a Doll should grow
71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—
The Snow that never drifts - The transient, fragrant snow That comes a single time a Year Is softly driving now - So thorough in the Tree
The Face we choose to miss - Be it but for a Day As absent as a Hundred Years, When it has rode away.
562 Conjecturing a Climate Of unsuspended Suns— Adds poignancy to Winter— The Shivering Fancy turns
Declaiming Waters none may dread… But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature– they are full –
330 The Juggler’s Hat her Country is… The Mountain Gorse—the Bee’s!
113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—