#AmericanWriters
400 A Tongue’—to tell Him I am true! Its fee’—to be of Gold’— Had Nature’—in Her monstrous Hou… A single Ragged Child’—
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
The day came slow, till five o’clo… Then sprang before the hills, Like hindered rubies, or the light… A sudden musket spills. The purple could not keep the east…
LXXIX I YEARS had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before
252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy
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—
How lonesome the Wind must feel N… When people have put out the Ligh… And everything that has an Inn Closes the shutter and goes in— How pompous the Wind must feel No…
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
890 From Us She wandered now a Year, Her tarrying, unknown, If Wilderness prevent her feet Or that Ethereal Zone
932 My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word— The Stars that stated come to Tow… Esteemed Me never rude
682 'Twould ease — a Butterfly — Elate — a Bee — Thou'rt neither — Neither — thy capacity —
603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East
562 Conjecturing a Climate Of unsuspended Suns— Adds poignancy to Winter— The Shivering Fancy turns
627 The Tint I cannot take—is best— The Color too remote That I could show it in Bazaar— A Guinea at a sight—
202 My Eye is fuller than my vase— Her Cargo—is of Dew— And still—my Heart—my Eye outweig… East India—for you!