#AmericanWriters
91 So bashful when I spied her! So pretty—so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find—
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
A light exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here A color stands abroad
454 It was given to me by the Gods— When I was a little Girl— They given us Presents most—you k… When we are new—and small.
I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me. And frigates in the upper floor
401 What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush… Or violate a Star—
74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!
759 He fought like those Who’ve nough… Bestowed Himself to Balls As One who for a further Life Had not a further Use—
509 If anybody’s friend be dead It’s sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive… At such and such a time—
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
565 One Anguish—in a Crowd— A Minor thing—it sounds— And yet, unto the single Doe Attempted of the Hounds
173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—