#AmericanWriters
Had we our senses But perhaps ’tis well they’re not… So intimate with Madness He’s liable with them Had we the eyes without our Head—
672 The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come—
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—
748 Autumn—overlooked my Knitting— Dyes—said He—have I— Could disparage a Flamingo— Show Me them—said I—
302 Like Some Old fashioned Miracle When Summertime is done— Seems Summer’s Recollection And the Affairs of June
A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky— A little purple—slipped between—
21 We lose’—because we win’— Gamblers’—recollecting which Toss their dice again!
A drop fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,
847 Finite’—to fail, but infinite to… For the one ship that struts the s… Many’s the gallant’—overwhelmed C… Nodding in Navies nevermore’—
906 The Admirations’—and Contempts’—o… Show justest’—through an Open Tom… The Dying’—as it were a Height Reorganizes Estimate
1100 The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different
994 Partake as doth the Bee, Abstemiously. The Rose is an Estate— In Sicily.
977 Besides this May We know There is Another— How fair
857 Uncertain lease—develops lustre On Time Uncertain Grasp, appreciation Of Sum—