#AmericanWriters
589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—
514 Her smile was shaped like other sm… The Dimples ran along— And still it hurt you, as some Bi… Did hoist herself, to sing,
902 The first Day that I was a Life I recollect it—How still— That last Day that I was a Life I recollect it—as well—
30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
821 Away from Home are some and I— An Emigrant to be In a Metropolis of Homes Is easy, possibly—
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
381 A Secret told— Ceases to be a Secret—then— A Secret—kept— That—can appal but One—
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
404 How many Flowers fail in Wood— Or perish from the Hill— Without the privilege to know That they are Beautiful—
XVII SHE rose to his requirement, drop… The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife.
VII WITHIN my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village…
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—
562 Conjecturing a Climate Of unsuspended Suns— Adds poignancy to Winter— The Shivering Fancy turns
355 ’Tis Opposites—entice— Deformed Men—ponder Grace— Bright fires—the Blanketless— The Lost—Day’s face—
