#AmericanWriters
28 So has a Daisy vanished From the fields today— So tiptoed many a slipper To Paradise away—
A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not, His notice sudden is. The grass divides as with a comb,
275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—
XLIII I LIKE to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step
663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
530 You cannot put a Fire out— A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan— Upon the slowest Night—
They say that ‘time assuages,’— Time never did assuage; An actual suffering strengthens, As sinews do, with age. Time is a test of trouble,
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.
XIV SOME things that fly there be,— Birds, hours, the bumble-bee: Of these no elegy. Some things that stay there be,—
445 ’Twas just this time, last year,… I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms— It had the Tassels on—
LV I envy seas whereon he rides, I envy spokes of wheels Of chariots that him convey, I envy speechless hills
588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—
1540 As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away— Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy—