#AmericanWriters
XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you
717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—
1068 Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass.
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live
145 This heart that broke so long— These feet that never flagged— This faith that watched for star i… Give gently to the dead—
I taste a liquor never brewed, From tankards scooped in pearl; Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol! Inebriate of air am I,
728 Let Us play Yesterday— I—the Girl at school— You—and Eternity—the Untold Tale—
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes— I wonder if It weighs like Mine— Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long—
734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid—
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
She sweeps with many-colored broom… And leaves the shreds behind; Oh, housewife in the evening west, Come back, and dust the pond! You dropped a purple ravelling in,
’Twas comfort in her Dying Room To hear the living Clock— A short relief to have the wind Walk boldly up and knock— Diversion from the Dying Theme
869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid
918 Only a Shrine, but Mine— I made the Taper shine— Madonna dim, to whom all Feet may… Regard a Nun—