#AmericanWriters
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
386 Answer July— Where is the Bee— Where is the Blush— Where is the Hay?
XXXIV NATURE is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon— Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee… Nay—Nature is Heaven.
306 The Soul’s Superior instants Occur to Her—alone— When friend—and Earth’s occasion Have infinite withdrawn—
The Sea said 'Come’ to the Brook… The Brook said 'Let me grow’ - The Sea said 'Then you will be a… I want a Brook - Come now’! The Sea said 'Go’ to the Sea -
Could Hope inspect her Basis Her Craft were done - Has a fictitious Charter Or it has none - Balked in the vastest instance
I saw the wind within her I knew it blew for me '— But she must buy my shelter I asked Humility
If Nature smiles - the Mother mu… I’m sure, at many a whim Of Her eccentric Family - Is She so much to blame?
174 At last, to be identified! At last, the lamps upon thy side The rest of Life to see! Past Midnight! Past the Morning…
356 The Day that I was crowned Was like the other Days— Until the Coronation came— And then—'twas Otherwise—
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
394 ’Twas Love’—not me’— Oh punish’—pray’— The Real one died for Thee’— Just Him’—not me’—
His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…
Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die