#AmericanWriters
So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole
123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.
282 How noteless Men, and Pleiads, st… Until a sudden sky Reveals the fact that One is rapt Forever from the Eye—
555 Trust in the Unexpected— By this—was William Kidd Persuaded of the Buried Gold— As One had testified—
273 He put the Belt around my life I heard the Buckle snap— And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up—
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
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
XXV Wild nights—Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury!
A Counterfeit– a Plated Person… I would not be - Whatever strata of Iniquity My Nature underlie - Truth is good Health - and Safet…
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
Between My Country—and the Other… There is a Sea— But Flowers—negotiate between us— As Ministry.
SUCCESS is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host
562 Conjecturing a Climate Of unsuspended Suns— Adds poignancy to Winter— The Shivering Fancy turns
154 Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels—lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.