#AmericanWriters
656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—
1100 The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different
99 New feet within my garden go— New fingers stir the sod— A Troubadour upon the Elm Betrays the solitude.
234 You’re right—“the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”—
After great pain a formal feeling… The nerves sit ceremonious like to… The stiff Heart questions—was it… And yesterday—or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round
146 On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair—
129 Cocoon above! Cocoon below! Stealthy Cocoon, why hide you so What all the world suspect? An hour, and gay on every tree
189 It’s such a little thing to weep— So short a thing to sigh— And yet—by Trades—the size of the… We men and women die!
265 Where Ships of Purple—gently toss… On Seas of Daffodil— Fantastic Sailors—mingle— And then—the Wharf is still!
455 Triumph—may be of several kinds— There’s Triumph in the Room When that Old Imperator—Death— By Faith
766 My Faith is larger than the Hills… So when the Hills decay— My Faith must take the Purple Wh… To show the Sun the way—
To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise
294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—
I know a place where summer strive… With such a practised frost, She each year leads her daisies ba… Recording briefly, ‘Lost.’ But when the south wind stirs the…
434 To love thee Year by Year— May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease— However, dear,
