#AmericanWriters
330 The Juggler’s Hat her Country is… The Mountain Gorse—the Bee’s!
904 Had I not This, or This, I said, Appealing to Myself, In moment of prosperity— Inadequate—were Life—
By homely gift and hindered Words The human heart is told Of Nothing - ‘Nothing’ is the force That renovates the World -
64 Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair… Some Vision of the World Cashmer… I confidently see! Or else a Peacock’s purple Train
457 Sweet—safe—Houses—Glad—gay—House… Sealed so stately tight— Lids of Steel—on Lids of Marble— Locking Bare feet out—
529 I’m sorry for the Dead—Today— It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences— It’s time o’ year for Hay.
404 How many Flowers fail in Wood— Or perish from the Hill— Without the privilege to know That they are Beautiful—
XXXVII For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.
523 Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered Every time—for Two— So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You—
340 Is Bliss then, such Abyss, I must not put my foot amiss For fear I spoil my shoe? I’d rather suit my foot
265 Where Ships of Purple—gently toss… On Seas of Daffodil— Fantastic Sailors—mingle— And then—the Wharf is still!
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!
60 Like her the Saints retire, In their Chapeaux of fire, Martial as she! Like her the Evenings steal
111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—
742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—