#AmericanWriters
100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
I never saw a moor; I never saw the sea, Yet know I how the heather looks And what a billow be. I never spoke with God,
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—
447 Could—I do more—for Thee— Wert Thou a Bumble Bee— Since for the Queen, have I— Nought but Bouquet?
568 We learned the Whole of Love— The Alphabet—the Words— A Chapter—then the mighty Book— Then—Revelation closed—
869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid
There cam a Wind like a Bugle - It quivered through the Grass And a Green Chill upon the Heat So ominous did pass We barred the Windows and the Doo…
I saw the wind within her I knew it blew for me '— But she must buy my shelter I asked Humility
877 Each Scar I’ll keep for Him Instead I’ll say of Gem In His long Absence worn A Costlier one
733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—
552 An ignorance a Sunset Confer upon the Eye— Of Territory—Color— Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.