#AmericanWriters
491 While it is alive Until Death touches it While it and I lap one Air Dwell in one Blood
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—
This was a Poet —It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings — And Attar so immense From the familiar species
I cannot live with You— It would be Life— And Life is over there— Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to—
503 Better—than Music! For I—who hea… I was used—to the Birds—before— This—was different—’Twas Translat… Of all tunes I knew—and more—
385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—
757 The Mountains—grow unnoticed— Their Purple figures rise Without attempt—Exhaustion— Assistance—or Applause—
238 Kill your Balm—and its Odors bles… Bare your Jessamine—to the storm— And she will fling her maddest per… Haply—your Summer night to Charm—
7 The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go— The Crocus—til she rises The Vassal of the snow—
March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -
530 You cannot put a Fire out— A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan— Upon the slowest Night—
XXI HE ate and drank the precious wor… His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was dust.
45 There’s something quieter than sle… Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name.
