#AmericanWriters
257 Delight is as the flight— Or in the Ratio of it, As the Schools would say— The Rainbow’s way—
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
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me Had I but further scanned
Going to him! Happy letter! Tell… Tell him the page I didn’t write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun… Tell him just how the fingers hurr…
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin,
37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion
460 I know where Wells grow’—Droughtl… Deep dug’—for Summer days’— Where Mosses go no more away’— And Pebble’—safely plays’—
614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
308 I send Two Sunsets— Day and I—in competition ran— I finished Two—and several Stars— While He—was making One—