#AmericanWriters
808 So set its Sun in Thee What Day be dark to me— What Distance—far— So I the Ships may see
29 If those I loved were lost The Crier’s voice would tell me— If those I loved were found The bells of Ghent would ring—
221 It can’t be “Summer”! That—got through! It’s early—yet—for “Spring”! There’s that long town of White—t…
993 We miss Her, not because We see— The Absence of an Eye— Except its Mind accompany Abridge Society
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—
These—saw Visions— Latch them softly— These—held Dimples— Smooth them slow— This—addressed departing accents—
A Sickness of this World it most… When Best Men die. A Wishfulness their far Condition To occupy. A Chief indifference, as Foreign
570 I could die—to know— ’Tis a trifling knowledge— News-Boys salute the Door— Carts—joggle by—
731 “I want”—it pleaded—All its life— I want—was chief it said When Skill entreated it—the last— And when so newly dead—
XLII SURGEONS must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the culprit,—Life!
A little Dog that wags his tail And knows no other joy Of such a little Dog am I Reminded by a Boy Who gambols all the living Day
169 In Ebon Box, when years have flow… To reverently peer, Wiping away the velvet dust Summers have sprinkled there!
315 He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on— He stuns you by degrees—
663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed… As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My frie…