#AmericanWriters
603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East
648 Promise This—When You be Dying— Some shall summon Me— Mine belong Your latest Sighing— Mine—to Belt Your Eye—
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
433 Knows how to forget! But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how
432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live
519 ’Twas warm—at first—like Us— Until there crept upon A Chill—like frost upon a Glass— Till all the scene—be gone.
206 The Flower must not blame the Bee… That seeketh his felicity Too often at her door— But teach the Footman from Vevay—
200 I stole them from a Bee— Because—Thee— Sweet plea— He pardoned me!
15 The Guest is gold and crimson— An Opal guest and gray— Of Ermine is his doublet— His Capuchin gay—
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
399 A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached—
43 Could live—did live— Could die—did die— Could smile upon the whole Through faith in one he met not,
217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine