#AmericanWriters
A Route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel— A Resonance of Emerald— A Rush of Cochineal— And every Blossom on the Bush
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
920 We can but follow to the Sun— As oft as He go down He leave Ourselves a Sphere behin… ’Tis mostly—following—
114 Good night, because we must, How intricate the dust! I would go, to know! Oh incognito!
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
491 While it is alive Until Death touches it While it and I lap one Air Dwell in one Blood
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
758 These’—saw Visions’— Latch them softly’— These’—held Dimples’— Smooth them slow’—
Image of Light, Adieu - Thanks for the interview - So long– so short – Preceptor of the whole - Coeval Cardinal -
729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—
675 Essential Oilsare wrung The Attar from the Rose Be not expressed by Sunsalone It is the gift of Screws