#AmericanWriters
467 We do not play on Graves— Because there isn’t Room— Besides—it isn’t even—it slants And People come—
209 With thee, in the Desert— With thee in the thirst— With thee in the Tamarind wood— Leopard breathes—at last!
145 This heart that broke so long— These feet that never flagged— This faith that watched for star i… Give gently to the dead—
78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.
24 There is a morn by men unseen— Whose maids upon remoter green Keep their Seraphic May— And all day long, with dance and g…
563 I could not prove the Years had f… Yet confident they run Am I, from symptoms that are past And Series that are done—
759 He fought like those Who’ve nough… Bestowed Himself to Balls As One who for a further Life Had not a further Use—
42 A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by! From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory!
453 Love — thou art high — I cannot climb thee — But, were it Two — Who knows but we —
Spring comes on the World - I sight the Aprils - Hueless to me until thou come As, till the Bee Blossoms stand negative,
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
XLII SURGEONS must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the culprit,—Life!
391 A Visitor in Marl— Who influences Flowers— Till they are orderly as Busts— And Elegant—as Glass—
‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us