#AmericanWriters
1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—
LXXIX I YEARS had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
873 Ribbons of the Year— Multitude Brocade— Worn to Nature’s Party once Then, as flung aside
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
731 “I want”—it pleaded—All its life— I want—was chief it said When Skill entreated it—the last— And when so newly dead—
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!
687 I’ll send the feather from my Hat… Who knows—but at the sight of that My Sovereign will relent? As trinket—worn by faded Child—
814 One Day is there of the Series Termed Thanksgiving Day. Celebrated part at Table Part in Memory.
729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—
359 I gained it so— By Climbing slow— By Catching at the Twigs that gro… Between the Bliss—and me—
If Nature smiles - the Mother mu… I’m sure, at many a whim Of Her eccentric Family - Is She so much to blame?
XII I ASKED no other thing, No other was denied. I offered Being for it; The mighty merchant smiled.
41 I robbed the Woods— The trusting Woods. The unsuspecting Trees Brought out their Burs and mosses