#AmericanWriters
158 Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?
147 Bless God, he went as soldiers, His musket on his breast— Grant God, he charge the bravest Of all the martial blest!
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
The Butterfly in honored Dust Assuredly will lie But none will pass the Catacomb So chastened as the Fly -
363 I went to thank Her— But She Slept— Her Bed—a funneled Stone— With Nosegays at the Head and Fo…
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
To mend each tattered Faith There is a needle fair Though no appearance indicate ’Tis threaded in the Air And though it do not wear
257 Delight is as the flight— Or in the Ratio of it, As the Schools would say— The Rainbow’s way—
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
65 I can’t tell you—but you feel it— Nor can you tell me— Saints, with ravished slate and pe… Solve our April Day!
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
23 I had a guinea golden— I lost it in the sand— And tho’ the sum was simple And pounds were in the land—
Tie the strings to my life, my Lo… Then I am ready to go! Just a look at the horses— Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side,
111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—
It's thoughts—and just One Heart— And Old Sunshine—about— Make frugal—Ones—Content— And two or three—for Company— Upon a Holiday—