#AmericanWriters
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair. Be its mattress straight,
LXI EACH life converges to some cent… Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal,
707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—
913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end
592 What care the Dead, for Chanticle… What care the Dead for Day? ’Tis late your Sunrise vex their… And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning
113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—
143 For every Bird a Nest— Wherefore in timid quest Some little Wren goes seeking rou… Wherefore when boughs are free—
698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—
760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—
I had been hungry all the years– My noon had come, to dine– I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. ‘T was this on tables I had seen
LXVI WHEN I hoped I feared, Since I hoped I dared; Everywhere alone As a church remain;
To my quick ear the leaves conferr… The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide,
1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm