#AmericanWriters
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
817 Given in Marriage unto Thee Oh thou Celestial Host— Bride of the Father and the Son Bride of the Holy Ghost.
548 Death is potential to that Man Who dies—and to his friend— Beyond that—unconspicuous To Anyone but God—
835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.
477 No Man can compass a Despair— As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed—
Not with a club, the Heart is bro… Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see… I’ve known To lash the magic creature
682 'Twould ease — a Butterfly — Elate — a Bee — Thou'rt neither — Neither — thy capacity —
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
46 I keep my pledge. I was not called— Death did not notice me. I bring my Rose.
116 I had some things that I called m… And God, that he called his, Till, recently a rival Claim Disturbed these amities.
50 I haven’t told my garden yet— Lest that should conquer me. I haven’t quite the strength now To break it to the Bee—
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—
962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—
14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.
