#AmericanWriters
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By strech of limb or stir of lid,— An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?
339 I tend my flowers for thee— Bright Absentee! My Fuchsia’s Coral Seams Rip—while the Sower—dreams—
140 An altered look about the hills— A Tyrian light the village fills— A wider sunrise in the morn— A deeper twilight on the lawn—
DEAR March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat— You must have walked—
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
842 Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt! Better, to be found, If one care to, that is, The Fox fits the Hound—
486 I was the slightest in the House— I took the smallest Room— At night, my little Lamp, and Boo… And one Geranium—
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,
624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—
To lose thee, sweeter than to gain All other hearts I knew. Tis true the drought is destitute But, then, I had the dew! The Caspian has its realms of san…
724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
223 I Came to buy a smile—today— But just a single smile— The smallest one upon your face Will suit me just as well—