#AmericanWriters
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’—
111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—
Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,
5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—
A Word dropped careless on a Page May stimulate an eye When folded in perpetual seam The Wrinkled Maker lie Infection in the sentence breeds
275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—
1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.
674 The Soul that hath a Guest Doth seldom go abroad— Diviner Crowd at Home— Obliterate the need—
426 It don't sound so terrible—quite—a… I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "De… Put it in Latin—left of my school… Seems it don't shriek so—under rul…
785 They have a little Odor—that to m… Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—
316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orc… Further than that— Nor stop to play with the Hay— Nor joggle a Hat—
401 What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush… Or violate a Star—
108 Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit—Life!
An Antiquated Tree Is cherished of the Crow Because that Junior Foliage is di… To venerable Birds Whose Corporation Coat
My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper