#AmericanWriters
7 The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go— The Crocus—til she rises The Vassal of the snow—
385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—
1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—
284 The Drop, that wrestles in the Se… Forgets her own locality— As I—toward Thee— She knows herself an incense small…
Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion
295 Unto like Story—Trouble has entic… How Kinsmen fell— Brothers and Sister—who preferred… And their young will
928 The Heart has narrow Banks It measures like the Sea In mighty—unremitting Bass And Blue Monotony
250 I shall keep singing! Birds will pass me On their way to Yellower Climes— Each—with a Robin’s expectation—
778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—
434 To love thee Year by Year— May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease— However, dear,
The Devil—had he fidelity Would be the best friend— Because he has ability— But Devils cannot mend— Perfidy is the virtue
955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.
256 If I’m lost—now That I was found— Shall still my transport be— That once—on me—those Jasper Gate…
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.