#AmericanWriters
Tell all the truth but tell it sla… Success in circuit lies, Too bright for our infirm delight The truth’s superb surprise; As lightning to the children eased
XLVIII THOUGH I get home how late, how… So I get home, ’t will compensate… Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me,
I saw the wind within her I knew it blew for me '— But she must buy my shelter I asked Humility
656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—
The Hills erect their Purple Hea… The Rivers lean to see Yet Man has not of all the Throng A Curiosity.
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
666 Ah, Teneriffe! Retreating Mountain! Purples of Ages—pause for you— Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regim…
134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
151 Mute thy Coronation— Meek my Vive le roi, Fold a tiny courtier In thine Ermine, Sir,
893 Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb— Or Dome of Worm— Or Porch of Gnome—
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
403 The Winters are so short— I’m hardly justified In sending all the Birds away— And moving into Pod—
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -