#AmericanWriters
A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not, His notice sudden is. The grass divides as with a comb,
242 When we stand on the tops of Thin… And like the Trees, look down— The smoke all cleared away from it… And Mirrors on the scene—
734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid—
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
405 It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness— I’m so accustomed to my Fate— Perhaps the Other—Peace—
247 What would I give to see his face… I’d give—I’d give my life—of cour… But that is not enough! Stop just a minute—let me think!
184 A transport one cannot contain May yet a transport be— Though God forbid it lift the lid… Unto its Ecstasy!
It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -
203 He forgot—and I—remembered— ’Twas an everyday affair— Long ago as Christ and Peter— “Warmed them” at the “Temple fire…
My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun— In Corners—till a Day The Owner passed—identified— And carried Me away— And now We roam in Sovereign Woo…
229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
XLIV THE show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be.
19 A sepal, petal, and a thorn Upon a common summer’s morn— A flask of Dew—A Bee or two— A Breeze—a caper in the trees—
Of Brussels—it was not— Of Kidderminster? Nay— The Winds did buy it of the Woods… They—sold it unto me It was a gentle price—