#AmericanWriters
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
799 Despair’s advantage is achieved By suffering—Despair— To be assisted of Reverse One must Reverse have bore—
LV MY country need not change her go… Her triple suit as sweet As when ’t was cut at Lexington, And first pronounced “a fit.”
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!
284 The Drop, that wrestles in the Se… Forgets her own locality— As I—toward Thee— She knows herself an incense small…
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
184 A transport one cannot contain May yet a transport be— Though God forbid it lift the lid… Unto its Ecstasy!
574 My first well Day — since many il… I asked to go abroad, And take the Sunshine in my hands… And see the things in Pod —
604 Unto my Books’—so good to turn’— Far ends of tired Days’— It half endears the Abstinence’— And Pain’—is missed’—in Praise’—
135 Water, is taught by thirst. Land—by the Oceans passed. Transport—by throe— Peace—by its battles told—
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
761 From Blank to Blank— A Threadless Way I pushed Mechanic feet— To stop—or perish—or advance—
485 To make One’s Toilette—after Dea… Has made the Toilette cool Of only Taste we cared to please Is difficult, and still—
Between My Country—and the Other… There is a Sea— But Flowers—negotiate between us— As Ministry.
27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.