#AmericanWriters
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
137 Flowers—Well—if anybody Can the ecstasy define— Half a transport—half a trouble— With which flowers humble men:
237 I think just how my shape will ris… When I shall be “forgiven”— Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Hea… Are out of sight—in Heaven—
Lives he in any other world My faith cannot reply Before it was imperative ’Twas all distinct to me -
An everywhere of silver, With ropes of sand To keep it from effacing The track called land.
971 Robbed by Death—but that was easy… To the failing Eye I could hold the latest Glowing— Robbed by Liberty
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
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,
616 I rose—because He sank— I thought it would be opposite— But when his power dropped— My Soul grew straight.
425 Good Morning’—Midnight’— I’m coming Home’— Day’—got tired of Me’— How could I’—of Him?
A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,
My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun— In Corners—till a Day The Owner passed—identified— And carried Me away— And now We roam in Sovereign Woo…
It is an honorable thought, And makes one lift one’s hat, As one encountered gentlefolk Upon a daily street, That we’ve immortal place,
778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—
410 The first Day’s Night had come— And grateful that a thing So terrible—had been endured— I told my Soul to sing—