#AmericanWriters
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—
148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.
Nature rarer uses Yellow Than another Hue. Saves she all of that for Sunsets Prodigal of Blue Spending Scarlet, like a Woman
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
1545 The Bible is an antique Volume— Written by faded men At the suggestion of Holy Spectre… Subjects—Bethlehem&mdash ;
Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
238 Kill your Balm’—and its Odors ble… Bare your Jessamine’—to the storm… And she will fling her maddest per… Haply’—your Summer night to Charm…
14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.
145 This heart that broke so long— These feet that never flagged— This faith that watched for star i… Give gently to the dead—
639 My Portion is Defeat—today— A paler luck than Victory— Less Paeans—fewer Bells— The Drums don’t follow Me—with tu…
1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm
453 Love — thou art high — I cannot climb thee — But, were it Two — Who knows but we —
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—