#AmericanWriters
VII WITHIN my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village…
XXVIII I BRING an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching, next to min… And summon them to drink. Crackling with fever, they essay;
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
91 So bashful when I spied her! So pretty—so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find—
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
A light exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here A color stands abroad
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
371 A precious’—mouldering pleasure’—'… To meet an Antique Book’— In just the Dress his Century wor… A privilege’—I think’—
762 The Whole of it came not at once— ’Twas Murder by degrees— A Thrust—and then for Life a chan… The Bliss to cauterize—
200 I stole them from a Bee— Because—Thee— Sweet plea— He pardoned me!
612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity
XXII I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity.
XIV SOME things that fly there be,— Birds, hours, the bumble-bee: Of these no elegy. Some things that stay there be,—
The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day
82 Whose cheek is this? What rosy face Has lost a blush today? I found her—"pleiad"—in the woods