#AmericanWriters
406 Some’—Work for Immortality’— The Chiefer part, for Time’— He’—Compensates’—immediately’— The former’—Checks’—on Fame’—
620 It makes no difference abroad— The Seasons—fit—the same— The Mornings blossom into Noons— And split their Pods of Flame—
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
827 The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see—
671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
169 In Ebon Box, when years have flow… To reverently peer, Wiping away the velvet dust Summers have sprinkled there!
359 I gained it so— By Climbing slow— By Catching at the Twigs that gro… Between the Bliss—and me—
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—
753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed… As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My frie…
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
XIX I STARTED early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me,
386 Answer July— Where is the Bee— Where is the Blush— Where is the Hay?
Her final summer was it, And yet we guessed it not; If tenderer industriousness Pervaded her, we thought A further force of life
353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—
726 We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s… And later—when we die— A little Water supplicate— Of fingers going by—