#AmericanWriters
188 Make me a picture of the sun— So I can hang it in my room— And make believe I’m getting warm When others call it “Day”!
252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy
681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—
660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—
LIX I TOOK my power in my hand And went against the world; ’T was not so much as David had, But I was twice as bold.
646 I think to Live—may be a Bliss To those who dare to try— Beyond my limit to conceive— My lip—to testify—
242 When we stand on the tops of Thin… And like the Trees, look down— The smoke all cleared away from it… And Mirrors on the scene—
I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I’m accustomed to him grown,— He hurts a little, though. I thought if I could only live
651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing
My cocoon tightens, colors tease, I’m feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be
535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—
463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy
833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament
874 They won’t frown always—some sweet… When I forget to tease— They’ll recollect how cold I look… And how I just said “Please.”
815 The Luxury to apprehend The Luxury 'twould be To look at Thee a single time An Epicure of Me