#AmericanWriters
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
1035 Bee! I’m expecting you! Was saying Yesterday To Somebody you know That you were due—
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
746 Never for Society He shall seek in vain— Who His own acquaintance Cultivate—Of Men
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
596 When I was small, a Woman died— Today—her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac— His face all Victory
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By strech of limb or stir of lid,— An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?
XLIX WE outgrow love like other things And put it in the drawer, Till it an antique fashion shows Like costumes grandsires wore.
742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—
798 She staked her Feathers—Gained an… Debated—Rose again— This time—beyond the estimate Of Envy, or of Men—
381 A Secret told— Ceases to be a Secret—then— A Secret—kept— That—can appal but One—
147 Bless God, he went as soldiers, His musket on his breast— Grant God, he charge the bravest Of all the martial blest!
The Devil—had he fidelity Would be the best friend— Because he has ability— But Devils cannot mend— Perfidy is the virtue
807 Expectation—is Contentment— Gain—Satiety— But Satiety—Conviction Of Necessity
The Savior must have been A docile Gentleman— To come so far so cold a Day For little Fellowmen— The Road to Bethlehem
