#AmericanWriters
443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—
They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the June A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…
833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament
945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—
20 Distrustful of the Gentian— And just to turn away, The fluttering of her fringes Child my perfidy—
34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—
869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid
XXII I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity.
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
269 Bound—a trouble— And lives can bear it! Limit—how deep a bleeding go! So—many—drops—of vital scarlet—
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
442 God made a little Gentian— It tried—to be a Rose— And failed—and all the Summer lau… But just before the Snows
631 Ourselves were wed one summer’—dea… Your Vision’—was in June’— And when Your little Lifetime fai… I wearied’—too’—of mine’—
939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—
428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—