#AmericanWriters
964 “Unto Me?” I do not know you— Where may be your House? “I am Jesus—Late of Judea— Now—of Paradise”—
385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—
850 I sing to use the Waiting My Bonnet but to tie And shut the Door unto my House No more to do have I
377 To lose one’s faith—surpass The loss of an Estate— Because Estates can be Replenished—faith cannot—
83 Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home— As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune—
My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper
XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair
119 Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of “Potose,” and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines!
638 To my small Hearth His fire came— And all my House aglow Did fan and rock, with sudden ligh… ’Twas Sunrise—'twas the Sky—
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
473 I am ashamed’—I hide’— What right have I’—to be a Bride’… So late a Dowerless Girl’— Nowhere to hide my dazzled Face’—
472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—