#AmericanWriters
976 Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. “Dissolve” says Death—The Spirit… I have another Trust”—
93 Went up a year this evening! I recollect it well! Amid no bells nor bravoes The bystanders will tell!
589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—
Out of sight? What of that? See the Bird —reach it! Curve by Curve —Sweep by Sweep — Round the Steep Air — Danger! What is that to Her?
707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—
Declaiming Waters none may dread… But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature– they are full –
878 The Sun is gay or stark According to our Deed. If Merry, He is merrier— If eager for the Dead
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
368 How sick—to wait—in any place—but… I knew last night—when someone tri… Thinking—perhaps—that I looked ti… Or breaking—almost—with unspoken p…
Two butterflies went out at noon And waltzed above a stream, Then stepped straight through the… And rested on a beam; And then together bore away
Spring comes on the World - I sight the Aprils - Hueless to me until thou come As, till the Bee Blossoms stand negative,
Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.