#AmericanWriters
81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.
385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—
811 The Veins of other Flowers The Scarlet Flowers are Till Nature leisure has for Terms As “Branch,” and “Jugular.”
232 The Sun’—just touched the Morning… The Morning’—Happy thing’— Supposed that He had come to dwel… And Life would all be Spring!
752 So the Eyes accost’—and sunder In an Audience’— Stamped’—occasionally’—forever’— So may Countenance
779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—
The Face we choose to miss - Be it but for a Day As absent as a Hundred Years, When it has rode away.
GLEE! the great storm is over! Four have recovered the land; Forty gone down together Into the boiling sand. Ring, for the scant salvation!
498 I envy Seas, whereon He rides— I envy Spokes of Wheels Of Chariots, that Him convey— I envy Crooked Hills
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,
545 ’Tis One by One—the Father count… And then a Tract between Set Cypherless—to teach the Eye The Value of its Ten—
II OUR share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.
661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me
284 The Drop, that wrestles in the Se… Forgets her own locality— As I—toward Thee— She knows herself an incense small…