#AmericanWriters
737 The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago— And now she turns Her perfect Fac… Upon the World below—
Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
It struck me every day The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through. It burned me in the night,
549 That I did always love I bring thee Proof That till I loved I never lived—Enough—
760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—
597 It always felt to me—a wrong To that Old Moses—done— To let him see—the Canaan— Without the entering—
882 A Shade upon the mind there passe… As when on Noon A Cloud the mighty Sun encloses Remembering
I never hear the word 'escape’ Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude. I never hear of prisons broad
72 Glowing is her Bonnet, Glowing is her Cheek, Glowing is her Kirtle, Yet she cannot speak.
Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships
926 Patience’—has a quiet Outer’— Patience’—Look within’— Is an Insect’s futile forces Infinites’—between’—
Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,
471 A Night—there lay the Days betwee… The Day that was Before— And Day that was Behind—were one— And now—'twas Night—was here—
704 672 No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken
If Nature smiles - the Mother mu… I’m sure, at many a whim Of Her eccentric Family - Is She so much to blame?