#AmericanWriters
843 I made slow Riches but my Gain Was steady as the Sun And every Night, it numbered more Than the preceding One
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
704 672 No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken
The Grass so little has to do ' A Sphere of simple Green ' With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain ' And stir all day to pretty Tunes
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
623 It was too late for Man— But early, yet, for God— Creation—impotent to help— But Prayer—remained—Our Side—
204 I’ll tell you how the Sun rose— A Ribbon at a time— The Steeples swam in Amethyst— The news, like Squirrels, ran—
960 As plan for Noon and plan for Nig… So differ Life and Death In positive Prospective— The Foot upon the Earth
994 Partake as doth the Bee, Abstemiously. The Rose is an Estate— In Sicily.
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
MINE enemy is growing old, I have at last revenge. The palate of the hate departs; If any would avenge, Let him be quick, the viand flits,
224 I've nothing else—to bring, You k… So I keep bringing These— Just as the Night keeps fetching… To our familiar eyes—
A Death blow is a Life blow to S… Who till they died, did not alive… Who had they lived, had died but w… They died, Vitality begun.
The reticent volcano keeps His never slumbering plan - Confided are his projects pink To no precarious man. If nature will not tell the tale