#AmericanWriters
168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!
571 Must be a Woe— A loss or so— To bend the eye Best Beauty’s way—
377 To lose one’s faith—surpass The loss of an Estate— Because Estates can be Replenished—faith cannot—
12 The morns are meeker than they wer… The nuts are getting brown— The berry’s cheek is plumper— The Rose is out of town.
XXII I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity.
106 The Daisy follows soft the Sun— And when his golden walk is done— Sits shyly at his feet— He—waking—finds the flower there—
596 When I was small, a Woman died— Today—her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac— His face all Victory
354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—
58 Delayed till she had ceased to kno… Delayed till in its vest of snow Her loving bosom lay— An hour behind the fleeting breath…
On this wondrous sea Sailing silently, Ho! Pilot, ho! Knowest thou the shore Where no breakers roar—
463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy
503 Better—than Music! For I—who hea… I was used—to the Birds—before— This—was different—’Twas Translat… Of all tunes I knew—and more—
411 The Color of the Grave is Green— The Outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Fi… Except it own a Stone—
30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—