#AmericanWriters
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
197 Morning—is the place for Dew— Corn—is made at Noon— After dinner light—for flowers— Dukes—for Setting Sun!
I dwell in Possibility – A fairer House than Prose – More numerous of Windows – Superior – for Doors – Of Chambers as the Cedars –
636 The Way I read a Letter’s—this— ’Tis first—I lock the Door— And push it with my fingers—next— For transport it be sure—
827 The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see—
A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,
23 I had a guinea golden— I lost it in the sand— And tho’ the sum was simple And pounds were in the land—
815 The Luxury to apprehend The Luxury 'twould be To look at Thee a single time An Epicure of Me
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
To make a prairie it takes a clove… One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
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,
God permit industrious angels Afternoons to play. I met one,—forgot my school-mates, All, for him, straightaway. God calls home the angels promptly
284 The Drop, that wrestles in the Se… Forgets her own locality— As I—toward Thee— She knows herself an incense small…
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
847 Finite’—to fail, but infinite to… For the one ship that struts the s… Many’s the gallant’—overwhelmed C… Nodding in Navies nevermore’—
