#AmericanWriters
707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
I saw the wind within her I knew it blew for me '— But she must buy my shelter I asked Humility
229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near
874 They won’t frown always—some sweet… When I forget to tease— They’ll recollect how cold I look… And how I just said “Please.”
614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
FATE slew him, but he did not dr… She felled’—he did not fall’— Impaled him on her fiercest stakes… He neutralized them all. She stung him, sapped his firm adv…
725 Where Thou art—that—is Home— Cashmere—or Calvary—the same— Degree—or Shame— I scarce esteem Location’s Name—
To my quick ear the leaves conferr… The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide,
127 “Houses”—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—