#AmericanWriters
450 Dreams—are well—but Waking’s bett… If One wake at morn— If One wake at Midnight—better— Dreaming—of the Dawn—
851 When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face— When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By strech of limb or stir of lid,— An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
958 We met as Sparks—Diverging Flint… Sent various—scattered ways— We parted as the Central Flint Were cloven with an Adze—
993 We miss Her, not because We see— The Absence of an Eye— Except its Mind accompany Abridge Society
824 [first version] The Wind begun to knead the Grass… As Women do a Dough— He flung a Hand full at the Plain…
The spry Arms of the Wind If I could crawl between I have an errand imminent To an adjoining Zone - I should not care to stop
After great pain a formal feeling… The nerves sit ceremonious like to… The stiff Heart questions—was it… And yesterday—or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round
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—
Death leaves Us homesick, who beh… Except that it is gone Are ignorant of its Concern As if it were not born. Through all their former Places,…
674 The Soul that hath a Guest Doth seldom go abroad— Diviner Crowd at Home— Obliterate the need—
VIII A wounded deer leaps highest, I ’ve heard the hunter tell; ’T is but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still.
LXXIX I YEARS had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before
