#AmericanWriters
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken To that dull Girl? Trivial a Word—just—
940 On that dear Frame the Years had… Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Lig… The Witnessing, to Us—
966 All forgot for recollecting Just a paltry One— All forsook, for just a Stranger’… New Accompanying—
173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!
THE Brain—is wider than the sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will include With ease—and you—beside— The Brain is deeper than the sea—
A Word dropped careless on a Page May stimulate an eye When folded in perpetual seam The Wrinkled Maker lie Infection in the sentence breeds
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—
726 We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s… And later—when we die— A little Water supplicate— Of fingers going by—
746 Never for Society He shall seek in vain— Who His own acquaintance Cultivate—Of Men
268 Me, change! Me, alter! Then I will, when on the Everlast… A Smaller Purple grows— At sunset, or a lesser glow
XLIV THE show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be.