#AmericanWriters
How Human Nature dotes On what it can’t detect. The moment that a Plot is plumbed Prospective is extinct - Prospective is the friend
722 Sweet Mountains’—Ye tell Me no l… Never deny Me’—Never fly’— Those same unvarying Eyes Turn on Me’—when I fail’—or feign…
898 How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom
1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.
989 Gratitude’—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?
Through the Dark Sod’—as Educati… The Lily passes sure’— Feels her white foot’—no trepidati… Her faith’—no fear’— Afterward’—in the Meadow’—
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.
316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orc… Further than that’— Nor stop to play with the Hay’— Nor joggle a Hat’—
167 To learn the Transport by the Pai… As Blind Men learn the sun! To die of thirst—suspecting That Brooks in Meadows run!
DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountain at a given distance
767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine
261 Put up my lute! What of—my Music! Since the sole ear I cared to cha… Passive—as Granite—laps My Music…