#AmericanWriters
We don’t cry—Tim and I, We are far too grand— But we bolt the door tight To prevent a friend— Then we hide our brave face
367 Over and over, like a Tune— The Recollection plays— Drums off the Phantom Battlements Cornets of Paradise—
206 The Flower must not blame the Bee… That seeketh his felicity Too often at her door— But teach the Footman from Vevay—
141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by! From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory! From marshallings as simple
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…
493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—
661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me
1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm
366 Although I put away his life— An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear… This might have been the Hand
Shall I take thee, the Poet said To the propounded word? Be stationed with the Candidates Till I have finer tried— The Poet searched Philology
886 These tested Our Horizon— Then disappeared As Birds before achieving A Latitude.
281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…
353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed