#AmericanWriters
627 The Tint I cannot take—is best— The Color too remote That I could show it in Bazaar— A Guinea at a sight—
896 Of Silken Speech and Specious Sh… A Traitor is the Bee His service to the newest Grace Present continually
760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
480 “Why do I love” You, Sir? Because— The Wind does not require the Gra… To answer—Wherefore when He pass
364 The Morning after Woe— ’Tis frequently the Way— Surpasses all that rose before— For utter Jubilee—
My life closed twice before its cl… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me So huge, so hopeless to conceive
787 Such is the Force of Happiness— The Least—can lift a Ton Assisted by its stimulus— Who Misery—sustain—
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
97 The rainbow never tells me That gust and storm are by, Yet is she more convincing Than Philosophy.
XLIII I LIKE to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step
They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the lune A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.
XXIV A NARROW fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not? His notice sudden is.