#AmericanWriters
109 By a flower—By a letter— By a nimble love— If I weld the Rivet faster— Final fast—above—
Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The Hour, and the Clime -
205 I should not dare to leave my frie… Because—because if he should die While I was gone—and I—too late— Should reach the Heart that wante…
326 I cannot dance upon my Toes’— No Man instructed me’— But oftentimes, among my mind, A Glee possesseth me,
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
I watched the Moon around the Hou… Until upon a Pane— She stopped—a Traveller’s privile… And there upon I gazed—as at a stranger—
513 Like Flowers, that heard the news… But never deemed the dripping priz… Awaited their—low Brows— Or Bees—that thought the Summer’s…
33 If recollecting were forgetting, Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot.
778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—
99 New feet within my garden go— New fingers stir the sod— A Troubadour upon the Elm Betrays the solitude.
672 The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come—
296 One Year ago’—jots what? God’—spell the word! I’—can’t’— Was’t Grace? Not that’— Was’t Glory? That’—will do’—
To make a prairie it takes a clove… One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
Me prove it now —Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it —now — Make haste —the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity — The River reaches to my feet —
LXXIII I ’LL tell you how the sun rose,— A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.