#AmericanWriters
XII I CANNOT live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
1545 The Bible is an antique Volume— Written by faded men At the suggestion of Holy Spectre… Subjects—Bethlehem&mdash ;
To make a prairie it takes a clove… One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
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,
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
Shall I take thee, the Poet said To the propounded word? Be stationed with the Candidates Till I have finer tried— The Poet searched Philology
488 Myself was formed’—a Carpenter’— An unpretending time My Plane’—and I, together wrought Before a Builder came’—
648 Promise This—When You be Dying— Some shall summon Me— Mine belong Your latest Sighing— Mine—to Belt Your Eye—
1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—
781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—
LIX I TOOK my power in my hand And went against the world; ’T was not so much as David had, But I was twice as bold.
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
139 Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost indeed— But tens have won an all—
I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I’m accustomed to him grown,— He hurts a little, though. I thought if I could only live