#AmericanWriters
If Nature smiles - the Mother mu… I’m sure, at many a whim Of Her eccentric Family - Is She so much to blame?
Tie the strings to my life, my Lo… Then I am ready to go! Just a look at the horses— Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side,
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
A light exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here A color stands abroad
659 That first Day, when you praised… And said that I was strong— And could be mighty, if I liked— That Day—the Days among—
730 Defrauded I a Butterfly— The lawful Heir—for Thee—
“Morning”—means “Milking”—to the… Dawn—to the Teneriffe— Dice—to the Maid— Morning means just Risk—to the Lo… Just revelation—to the Beloved—
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
Tell as a Marksman - were forgot… Tell - this Day endures Ruddy as that coeval Apple The Tradition bears - Fresh as Mankind that humble stor…
742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—
XXXIV NATURE is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon— Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee… Nay—Nature is Heaven.
672 The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come—
142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.
311 It sifts from Leaden Sieves— It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road—
370 Heaven is so far of the Mind That were the Mind dissolved— The Site—of it—by Architect Could not again be proved—