#AmericanWriters
142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.
52 Whether my bark went down at sea— Whether she met with gales— Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails—
912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.
535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—
349 I had the Glory—that will do— An Honor, Thought can turn her to When lesser Fames invite— With one long “Nay”—
956 What shall I do when the Summer t… What, when the Rose is ripe— What when the Eggs fly off in Mus… From the Maple Keep?
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
628 They called me to the Window, for “ ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said— I only saw a Sapphire Farm— And just a Single Herd—
81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.
871 The Sun and Moon must make their… The Stars express around For in the Zones of Paradise The Lord alone is burned—
330 The Juggler’s Hat her Country is… The Mountain Gorse—the Bee’s!
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?
Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships
The Road was lit with Moon and st… The Trees were bright and still - Descried I - by the distant Ligh… A Traveller on a Hill - To magic Perpendiculars