#AmericanWriters
291 How the old Mountains drip with S… How the Hemlocks burn— How the Dun Brake is draped in C… By the Wizard Sun—
I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since
DEAR March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat— You must have walked—
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
63 If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise,
Could Hope inspect her Basis Her Craft were done - Has a fictitious Charter Or it has none - Balked in the vastest instance
Are Friends Delight or Pain? Could Bounty but remain Riches were good - But if they only stay Ampler to fly away
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
273 He put the Belt around my life I heard the Buckle snap— And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up—
It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -
969 He who in Himself believes— Fraud cannot presume— Faith is Constancy’s Result— And assumes—from Home—
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
542 I had no Cause to be awake— My Best—was gone to sleep— And Morn a new politeness took— And failed to wake them up—
17 Baffled for just a day or two— Embarrassed—not afraid— Encounter in my garden An unexpected Maid.
XXXIX I MEANT to have but modest need… Such as content, and heaven; Within my income these could lie, And life and I keep even.