#AmericanWriters
XXXVI I NEVER hear the word “escape” Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude.
380 There is a flower that Bees prefe… And Butterflies—desire— To gain the Purple Democrat The Humming Bird—aspire—
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
366 Although I put away his life— An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear… This might have been the Hand
269 Bound—a trouble— And lives can bear it! Limit—how deep a bleeding go! So—many—drops—of vital scarlet—
191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!
689 The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous— We learned to like the Fire By playing Glaciers—when a Boy— And Tinder—guessed—by power
Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—
899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.
150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—
Because I could not stop for Deat… He kindly stopped for me– The Carriage held but just Oursel… And Immortality. We slowly drove– He knew no haste
119 Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of “Potose,” and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines!
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
A shady friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind. The vane a little to the east
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—