#AmericanWriters
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
273 He put the Belt around my life I heard the Buckle snap— And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up—
“Arcturus” is his other name’— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere! I slew a worm the other day’—
79 Going to Heaven! I don’t know when— Pray do not ask me how! Indeed I’m too astonished
920 We can but follow to the Sun— As oft as He go down He leave Ourselves a Sphere behin… ’Tis mostly—following—
355 ’Tis Opposites—entice— Deformed Men—ponder Grace— Bright fires—the Blanketless— The Lost—Day’s face—
A Counterfeit– a Plated Person… I would not be - Whatever strata of Iniquity My Nature underlie - Truth is good Health - and Safet…
This was a Poet —It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings — And Attar so immense From the familiar species
801 I play at Riches—to appease The Clamoring for Gold— It kept me from a Thief, I think, For often, overbold
367 Over and over, like a Tune— The Recollection plays— Drums off the Phantom Battlements Cornets of Paradise—
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
542 I had no Cause to be awake— My Best—was gone to sleep— And Morn a new politeness took— And failed to wake them up—
The Hills in Purple syllables The Day’s Adventures tell To little Groups of Continents Just going Home from School.
838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine
The Road was lit with Moon and st… The Trees were bright and still - Descried I - by the distant Ligh… A Traveller on a Hill - To magic Perpendiculars
