#AmericanWriters
83 Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home— As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune—
755 No Bobolink—reverse His Singing When the only Tree Ever He minded occupying By the Farmer be—
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
401 What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush… Or violate a Star—
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
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
Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -
386 Answer July— Where is the Bee— Where is the Blush— Where is the Hay?
221 It can’t be “Summer”! That—got through! It’s early—yet—for “Spring”! There’s that long town of White—t…
183 I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim… In a Cathedral Aisle, And understood no word it said— Yet held my breath, the while—
1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm
799 Despair’s advantage is achieved By suffering—Despair— To be assisted of Reverse One must Reverse have bore—
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
103 I have a King, who does not speak… So—wondering—thro’ the hours meek I trudge the day away— Half glad when it is night, and sl…
XV I know some lonely houses off the… A robber ’d like the look of,— Wooden barred, And windows hanging low,