#AmericanWriters
173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!
Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,
913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end
391 A Visitor in Marl— Who influences Flowers— Till they are orderly as Busts— And Elegant—as Glass—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
538 ’Tis true—They shut me in the Col… But then—Themselves were warm And could not know the feeling ’tw… Forget it—Lord—of Them—
Is it too late to touch you, Dear… We this moment knew - Love Marine and Love terrene - Love celestial too -
665 Dropped into the Ether Acre— Wearing the Sod Gown— Bonnet of Everlasting Laces— Brooch—frozen on—
‘They have not chosen me,’ he said… ‘But I have chosen them!’ Brave’—Broken hearted statement’— Uttered in Bethlehem! I could not have told it,
103 I have a King, who does not speak… So—wondering—thro’ the hours meek I trudge the day away— Half glad when it is night, and sl…
924 Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself—