#AmericanWriters
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
638 To my small Hearth His fire came— And all my House aglow Did fan and rock, with sudden ligh… ’Twas Sunrise—'twas the Sky—
113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
964 “Unto Me?” I do not know you— Where may be your House? “I am Jesus—Late of Judea— Now—of Paradise”—
519 ’Twas warm—at first—like Us— Until there crept upon A Chill—like frost upon a Glass— Till all the scene—be gone.
773 Deprived of other Banquet, I entertained Myself— At first—a scant nutrition— An insufficient Loaf—
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
827 The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see—
37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—
88 As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear— As for the lost we grapple Tho’ all the rest are here—
There is another Loneliness That many die without - Not want of friend occasions it Or circumstances of Lot But nature, sometimes, sometimes t…
A drop fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—