#AmericanWriters
She sweeps with many-colored broom… And leaves the shreds behind; Oh, housewife in the evening west, Come back, and dust the pond! You dropped a purple ravelling in,
LX A SHADY friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind.
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
A Coffin’—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave’—is a restricted Breadth’…
A Wind that rose Though not a Leaf In any Forest stirred But with itself did cold engage Beyond the Realm of Bird -
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes— I wonder if It weighs like Mine— Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long—
830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod
250 I shall keep singing! Birds will pass me On their way to Yellower Climes— Each—with a Robin’s expectation—
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—
197 Morning—is the place for Dew— Corn—is made at Noon— After dinner light—for flowers— Dukes—for Setting Sun!
982 No Other can reduce Our mortal Consequence Like the remembering it be nought A Period from hence
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
A chilly Peace infests the Grass The Sun respectful lies - Not any Trance of industry These shadows scrutinize - Whose Allies go no more astray
You said that I “was Great”'—one… Then “Great” it be’—if that pleas… Or Small’—or any size at all’— Nay’—I’m the size suit Thee’— Tall’—like the Stag’—would that?