#AmericanWriters
31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!
If all the griefs I am to have Would only come today, I am so happy I believe They’d laugh and run away. If all the joys I am to have
737 The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago— And now she turns Her perfect Fac… Upon the World below—
A clock stopped—not the mantel’s Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing That just now dangled still. An awe came on the trinket!
I know a place where summer strive… With such a practised frost, She each year leads her daisies ba… Recording briefly, ‘Lost.’ But when the south wind stirs the…
846 Twice had Summer her fair Verdure Proffered to the Plain— Twice a Winter’s silver Fracture On the Rivers been—
851 When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face— When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race
806 A Planted Life—diversified With Gold and Silver Pain To prove the presence of the Ore In Particles—'tis when
720 No Prisoner be— Where Liberty— Himself—abide with Thee—
841 A Moth the hue of this Haunts Candles in Brazil. Nature’s Experience would make Our Reddest Second pale.
599 There is a pain’—so utter’— It swallows substance up’— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
LXI EACH life converges to some cent… Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal,
753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed… As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My frie…
595 Like Mighty Foot Lights’—burned… At Bases of the Trees’— The far Theatricals of Day Exhibiting’—to These’—
LXVII If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam,