#AmericanWriters
The Devil—had he fidelity Would be the best friend— Because he has ability— But Devils cannot mend— Perfidy is the virtue
298 Alone, I cannot be— For Hosts—do visit me— Recordless Company— Who baffle Key—
54 If I should die, And you should live— And time should gurgle on— And morn should beam—
443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—
The nearest dream recedes, unreali… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school-boy Invites the race;
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—
A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,
56 If I should cease to bring a Rose Upon a festal day, ‘Twill be because beyond the Rose I have been called away—
Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
131 Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze—
156 You love me—you are sure— I shall not fear mistake— I shall not cheated wake— Some grinning morn—