#AmericanWriters
908 ’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast T… No Station in the Day? ’Twas not thy wont, to hinder so— Retrieve thine industry—
LXVII A DEED knocks first at thought, And then it knocks at will. That is the manufacturing spot, And will at home and well.
The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—
Tell as a Marksman - were forgot… Tell - this Day endures Ruddy as that coeval Apple The Tradition bears - Fresh as Mankind that humble stor…
424 Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days— Myself had just to earn—
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
270 One Life of so much Consequence! Yet I—for it—would pay— My Soul’s entire income— In ceaseless—salary—
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,
643 I could suffice for Him, I knew— He—could suffice for Me— Yet Hesitating Fractions—Both Surveyed Infinity—
174 At last, to be identified! At last, the lamps upon thy side The rest of Life to see! Past Midnight! Past the Morning…
Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
880 The Bird must sing to earn the Cr… What merit have the Tune No Breakfast if it guaranty The Rose content may bloom
It's thoughts—and just One Heart— And Old Sunshine—about— Make frugal—Ones—Content— And two or three—for Company— Upon a Holiday—