#AmericanWriters
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?
384 No Rack can torture me— My Soul—at Liberty— Behind this mortal Bone There knits a bolder One—
They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the lune A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…
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,
570 I could die—to know— ’Tis a trifling knowledge— News-Boys salute the Door— Carts—joggle by—
831 Dying! To be afraid of thee One must to thine Artillery Have left exposed a Friend— Than thine old Arrow is a Shot
358 If any sink, assure that this, now… Failed like Themselves—and consci… Grew by the Fact, and not the Und… How Weakness passed—or Force—aros…
II OUR share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.
785 They have a little Odor—that to m… Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—
163 Tho’ my destiny be Fustian— Hers be damask fine— Tho’ she wear a silver apron— I, a less divine—
809 Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity— Unable they that love—to die
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
