#AmericanWriters
824 [first version] The Wind begun to knead the Grass… As Women do a Dough— He flung a Hand full at the Plain…
I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…
261 Put up my lute! What of—my Music! Since the sole ear I cared to cha… Passive—as Granite—laps My Music…
895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
619 Glee—The great storm is over— Four—have recovered the Land— Forty gone down together— Into the boiling Sand.
627 The Tint I cannot take—is best— The Color too remote That I could show it in Bazaar— A Guinea at a sight—
800 Two—were immortal twice— The privilege of few— Eternity—obtained—in Time— Reversed Divinity’—
852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.
Declaiming Waters none may dread… But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature– they are full –
785 They have a little Odor—that to m… Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—
661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
206 The Flower must not blame the Bee… That seeketh his felicity Too often at her door— But teach the Footman from Vevay—
902 The first Day that I was a Life I recollect it—How still— That last Day that I was a Life I recollect it—as well—