#AmericanWriters
380 There is a flower that Bees prefe… And Butterflies—desire— To gain the Purple Democrat The Humming Bird—aspire—
334 All the letters I can write Are not fair as this— Syllables of Velvet— Sentences of Plush,
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.
XL THE thought beneath so slight a f… Is more distinctly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.
285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—
185 “Faith” is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see— But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
976 Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. “Dissolve” says Death—The Spirit… I have another Trust”—
Ended, ere it begun - The Title was scarcely told When the Preface perished from Co… The Story, unrevealed - Had it been mine, to print!
679 Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend— He doth not attest by Posture— Nor Confirm—by Word—
224 I've nothing else—to bring, You k… So I keep bringing These— Just as the Night keeps fetching… To our familiar eyes—
957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—