#AmericanWriters
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—
94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?
423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—
There’s been a death in the opposi… As lately as to-day. I know it by the numb look Such houses have alway. The neighbors rustle in and out,
975 The Mountain sat upon the Plain In his tremendous Chair— His observation omnifold, His inquest, everywhere—
598 Three times—we parted—Breath—and… Three times—He would not go— But strove to stir the lifeless F… The Waters—strove to stay.
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity
899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.
411 The Color of the Grave is Green— The Outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Fi… Except it own a Stone—
775 If Blame be my side’—forfeit Me’— But doom me not to forfeit Thee’— To forfeit Thee? The very name Is sentence from Belief’—and Hous…
No brigadier throughout the year So civic as the jay. A neighbor and a warrior too, With shrill felicity Pursuing winds that censure us
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
