#AmericanWriters
404 How many Flowers fail in Wood— Or perish from the Hill— Without the privilege to know That they are Beautiful—
354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—
224 I've nothing else—to bring, You k… So I keep bringing These— Just as the Night keeps fetching… To our familiar eyes—
There’s been a death in the opposi… As lately as to-day. I know it by the numb look Such houses have alway. The neighbors rustle in and out,
508 I’m ceded—I’ve stopped being Thei… The name They dropped upon my fac… With water, in the country church Is finished using, now,
994 Partake as doth the Bee, Abstemiously. The Rose is an Estate— In Sicily.
I felt a cleaving in my mind As if my brain had split; I tried to match it, seam by seam, But could not make them fit. The thought behind I strove to jo…
14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.
155 The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft—yieldeth me— If any ask me why— ’Twere easier to die—
MINE enemy is growing old, I have at last revenge. The palate of the hate departs; If any would avenge, Let him be quick, the viand flits,
294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—
415 Sunset at Night—is natural— But Sunset on the Dawn Reverses Nature—Master— So Midnight's—due—at Noon.
DEAR March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat— You must have walked—
786 Severer Service of myself I—hastened to demand To fill the awful Vacuum Your life had left behind—
634 You’ll know Her—by Her Foot— The smallest Gamboge Hand With Fingers—where the Toes shoul… Would more affront the Sand—