#AmericanWriters
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
To my quick ear the leaves conferr… The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide,
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—
717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—
131 Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze—
873 Ribbons of the Year— Multitude Brocade— Worn to Nature’s Party once Then, as flung aside
424 Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days— Myself had just to earn—
70 “Arcturus” is his other name— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere!
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
I had not minded—Walls— Were Universe—one Rock— And far I heard his silver Call The other side the Block— I’d tunnel—till my Groove
316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orc… Further than that— Nor stop to play with the Hay— Nor joggle a Hat—
394 ’Twas Love’—not me’— Oh punish’—pray’— The Real one died for Thee’— Just Him’—not me’—
567 He gave away his Life— To Us—Gigantic Sum— A trifle—in his own esteem— But magnified—by Fame—
965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—
