#AmericanWriters
327 Before I got my eye put out I liked as well to see— As other Creatures, that have Eye… And know no other way—
Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry....
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold
693 Shells from the Coast mistaking— I cherished them for All— Happening in After Ages To entertain a Pearl—
It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,
218 Is it true, dear Sue? Are there two? I shouldn’t like to come For fear of joggling Him!
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
417 Is it dead—Find it— Out of sound—Out of sight— “Happy”? Which is wiser— You, or the Wind?
The Hills in Purple syllables The Day’s Adventures tell To little Groups of Continents Just going Home from School.
311 It sifts from Leaden Sieves— It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road—
7 The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go— The Crocus—til she rises The Vassal of the snow—
298 Alone, I cannot be— For Hosts—do visit me— Recordless Company— Who baffle Key—