#AmericanWriters
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—
804 No Notice gave She, but a Change… No Message, but a Sigh— For Whom, the Time did not suffic… That She should specify.
576 I prayed, at first, a little Girl… Because they told me to— But stopped, when qualified to gue… How prayer would feel—to me—
920 We can but follow to the Sun— As oft as He go down He leave Ourselves a Sphere behin… ’Tis mostly—following—
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
644 You left me—Sire—two Legacies— A Legacy of Love A Heavenly Father would suffice Had He the offer of—
Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found - Returns us not, but after time
76 Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, Past the houses—past the headlands… Into deep Eternity—
XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you
332 There are two Ripenings—one—of si… Whose forces Spheric wind Until the Velvet product Drop spicy to the ground—
48 Once more, my now bewildered Dove Bestirs her puzzled wings Once more her mistress, on the dee… Her troubled question flings—
109 By a flower—By a letter— By a nimble love— If I weld the Rivet faster— Final fast—above—
100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold
451 The Outer—from the Inner Derives its Magnitude— 'Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood—