#AmericanWriters
The Sun kept setting—setting—stil… No Hue of Afternoon— Upon the Village I perceived From House to House ’twas Noon— The Dusk kept dropping—dropping—s…
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
748 Autumn—overlooked my Knitting— Dyes—said He—have I— Could disparage a Flamingo— Show Me them—said I—
XVI TO fight aloud is very brave, But gallanter, I know, Who charge within the bosom, The cavalry of woe.
682 'Twould ease — a Butterfly — Elate — a Bee — Thou'rt neither — Neither — thy capacity —
SUCCESS is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host
XX ARCTURUS is his other name,— I ’d rather call him star! It ’s so unkind of science To go and interfere!
104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.
987 The Leaves like Women interchange Exclusive Confidence— Somewhat of nods and somewhat Portentous inference.
VII WITHIN my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village…
402 I pay—in Satin Cash— You did not state—your price— A Petal, for a Paragraph It near as I can guess—
44 If she had been the Mistletoe And I had been the Rose— How gay upon your table My velvet life to close—
XXXIX I MEANT to have but modest need… Such as content, and heaven; Within my income these could lie, And life and I keep even.
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,
560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—