#AmericanWriters
787 Such is the Force of Happiness— The Least—can lift a Ton Assisted by its stimulus— Who Misery—sustain—
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
There is no Silence in the Earth… As that endured Which uttered, would discourage N… And haunt the World.
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,
25 She slept beneath a tree— Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute— She recognized the foot—
Safe in their alabaster chambers, Untouched by morning and untouched… Sleep the meek members of the resu… Rafter of satin, and roof of stone… Light laughs the breeze in her cas…
777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
677 To be alive’—is Power’— Existence’—in itself’— Without a further function’— Omnipotence’—Enough’—
291 How the old Mountains drip with S… How the Hemlocks burn— How the Dun Brake is draped in C… By the Wizard Sun—
XXVII BECAUSE I could not stop for D… He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Oursel… And Immortality.