#AmericanWriters
634 You’ll know Her—by Her Foot— The smallest Gamboge Hand With Fingers—where the Toes shoul… Would more affront the Sand—
Your Riches—taught me—Poverty. Myself—a Millionaire In little Wealths, as Girls could… Till broad as Buenos Ayre— You drifted your Dominions—
655 Without this—there is nought— All other Riches be As is the Twitter of a Bird— Heard opposite the Sea—
243 I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent— To wrap its shining Yards— Pluck up its stakes, and disappear… Without the sound of Boards
482 We Cover Thee—Sweet Face— Not that We tire of Thee— But that Thyself fatigue of Us— Remember—as Thou go—
142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.
821 Away from Home are some and I— An Emigrant to be In a Metropolis of Homes Is easy, possibly—
‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us
382 For Death—or rather For the Things 'twould buy— This—put away Life’s Opportunity—
570 I could die’—to know’— ’Tis a trifling knowledge’— News-Boys salute the Door’— Carts’—joggle by’—
711 Strong Draughts of Their Refresh… To drink—enables Mine Through Desert or the Wilderness As bore it Sealed Wine—
899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.
603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East
165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!
130 These are the days when Birds com… A very few—a Bird or two— To take a backward look. These are the days when skies resu…