#AmericanWriters
They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”
623 It was too late for Man— But early, yet, for God— Creation—impotent to help— But Prayer—remained—Our Side—
313 I should have been too glad, I se… Too lifted—for the scant degree Of Life’s penurious Round— My little Circuit would have sham…
154 Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels—lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.
567 He gave away his Life— To Us—Gigantic Sum— A trifle—in his own esteem— But magnified—by Fame—
283 A Mien to move a Queen— Half Child—Half Heroine— An Orleans in the Eye That puts its manner by
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
187 How many times these low feet stag… Only the soldered mouth can tell— Try—can you stir the awful rivet— Try—can you lift the hasps of stee…
’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
562 Conjecturing a Climate Of unsuspended Suns— Adds poignancy to Winter— The Shivering Fancy turns
74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!
314 Nature—sometimes sears a Sapling— Sometimes—scalps a Tree— Her Green People recollect it When they do not die—
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
108 Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit—Life!