#AmericanWriters
III SOUL, wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost, indeed, But tens have won an all.
LXVII A DEED knocks first at thought, And then it knocks at will. That is the manufacturing spot, And will at home and well.
86 South Winds jostle them— Bumblebees come— Hover—hesitate— Dri nk, and are gone—
Awake ye muses nine, sing me a str… Unwind the solemn twine, and tie m… Oh the Earth was made for lovers,… For sighing, and gentle whispering… All things do go a courting, in ea…
334 All the letters I can write Are not fair as this— Syllables of Velvet— Sentences of Plush,
414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till i… The Broad are too broad to define And of ‘Truth’ until it proclaime… The Truth never flaunted a Sign— Simplicity fled from his counterfe…
914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude
The Soul selects her own Society— Then—shuts the Door— To her divine Majority— Present no more— Unmoved—she notes the Chariots—pa…
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—
19 A sepal, petal, and a thorn Upon a common summer’s morn— A flask of Dew—A Bee or two— A Breeze—a caper in the trees—
771 None can experience sting Who Bounty—have not known— The fact of Famine—could not be Except for Fact of Corn—
197 Morning—is the place for Dew— Corn—is made at Noon— After dinner light—for flowers— Dukes—for Setting Sun!