#AmericanWriters
889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep
112 Where bells no more affright the m… Where scrabble never comes— Where very nimble Gentlemen Are forced to keep their rooms—
A Route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel— A Resonance of Emerald— A Rush of Cochineal— And every Blossom on the Bush
102 Great Caesar! Condescend The Daisy, to receive, Gathered by Cato’s Daughter, With your majestic leave!
The show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be. Fair play—
365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore
90 Within my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered thro’ the village—
999 Superfluous were the Sun When Excellence be dead He were superfluous every Day For every Day be said
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
Because I could not stop for Deat… He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselv… And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
903 I hide myself within my flower, That fading from your Vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me— Almost a loneliness.
730 Defrauded I a Butterfly— The lawful Heir—for Thee—
485 To make One’s Toilette—after Dea… Has made the Toilette cool Of only Taste we cared to please Is difficult, and still—
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
497 He strained my faith— Did he find it supple? Shook my strong trust— Did it then—yield?