#AmericanWriters
824 [first version] The Wind begun to knead the Grass… As Women do a Dough— He flung a Hand full at the Plain…
132 I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching Next to mine, And summon them to drink;
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
476 I meant to have but modest needs— Such as Content—and Heaven— Within my income—these could lie And Life and I—keep even—
786 Severer Service of myself I—hastened to demand To fill the awful Vacuum Your life had left behind—
Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,
121 As Watchers hang upon the East, As Beggars revel at a feast By savory Fancy spread— As brooks in deserts babble sweet
Because I could not stop for Deat… He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselv… And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
Some keep the Sabbath going to Ch… I keep it, staying at Home— With a Bobolink for a Chorister— And an Orchard, for a Dome— Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice…
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
87 A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
184 A transport one cannot contain May yet a transport be— Though God forbid it lift the lid… Unto its Ecstasy!
High from the earth I heard a bir… He trod upon the trees As he esteemed them trifles, And then he spied a breeze, And situated softly
114 Good night, because we must, How intricate the dust! I would go, to know! Oh incognito!
814 One Day is there of the Series Termed Thanksgiving Day. Celebrated part at Table Part in Memory.
