#AmericanWriters
962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
455 Triumph—may be of several kinds— There’s Triumph in the Room When that Old Imperator—Death— By Faith
514 Her smile was shaped like other sm… The Dimples ran along— And still it hurt you, as some Bi… Did hoist herself, to sing,
54 If I should die, And you should live— And time should gurgle on— And morn should beam—
552 An ignorance a Sunset Confer upon the Eye— Of Territory—Color— Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
298 Alone, I cannot be— For Hosts—do visit me— Recordless Company— Who baffle Key—
977 Besides this May We know There is Another— How fair
A Pang is more conspicuous in Spr… In contrast with the things that s… Not Birds entirely– but Minds – Minute Effulgencies and Winds - When what they sung for is undone
565 One Anguish—in a Crowd— A Minor thing—it sounds— And yet, unto the single Doe Attempted of the Hounds
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—
Why – do they shut Me out of Heav… Did I sing – too loud? But – I can say a little “minor” Timid as a Bird! Wouldn’t the Angels try me –
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spum, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year,