#AmericanWriters
LXXIX I YEARS had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before
There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
To my quick ear the leaves conferr… The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide,
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
273 He put the Belt around my life I heard the Buckle snap— And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up—
620 It makes no difference abroad— The Seasons—fit—the same— The Mornings blossom into Noons— And split their Pods of Flame—
300 ‘Morning’—means 'Milking’—to the… Dawn’—to the Teneriffe’— Dice’—to the Maid’— Morning means just Risk’—to the L…
Are Friends Delight or Pain? Could Bounty but remain Riches were good - But if they only stay Ampler to fly away
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—
760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—
552 An ignorance a Sunset Confer upon the Eye— Of Territory—Color— Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
12 The morns are meeker than they wer… The nuts are getting brown— The berry’s cheek is plumper— The Rose is out of town.
403 The Winters are so short— I’m hardly justified In sending all the Birds away— And moving into Pod—
334 All the letters I can write Are not fair as this— Syllables of Velvet— Sentences of Plush,