#AmericanWriters
268 Me, change! Me, alter! Then I will, when on the Everlast… A Smaller Purple grows— At sunset, or a lesser glow
788 Joy to have merited the Pain— To merit the Release— Joy to have perished every step— To Compass Paradise—
402 I pay—in Satin Cash— You did not state—your price— A Petal, for a Paragraph It near as I can guess—
423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—
710 The Sunrise runs for Both— The East—Her Purple Troth Keeps with the Hill— The Noon unwinds Her Blue
336 The face I carry with me’—last’— When I go out of Time’— To take my Rank’—by’—in the West’… That face’—will just be thine’—
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
116 I had some things that I called m… And God, that he called his, Till, recently a rival Claim Disturbed these amities.
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
675 Essential Oilsare wrung The Attar from the Rose Be not expressed by Sunsalone It is the gift of Screws
81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.
957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
God permit industrious angels Afternoons to play. I met one,—forgot my school-mates, All, for him, straightaway. God calls home the angels promptly
466 ’Tis little I—could care for Pear… Who own the ample sea— Or Brooches—when the Emperor— With Rubies—pelteth me—