#AmericanWriters
33 If recollecting were forgetting, Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot.
142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.
275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—
803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—
88 As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear— As for the lost we grapple Tho’ all the rest are here—
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
48 Once more, my now bewildered Dove Bestirs her puzzled wings Once more her mistress, on the dee… Her troubled question flings—
770 I lived on Dread— To Those who know The Stimulus there is In Danger—Other impetus
492 Civilization—spurns—the Leopard! Was the Leopard—bold? Deserts—never rebuked her Satin— Ethiop—her Gold—
’T IS so much joy! ’T is so much… If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw; Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
