#AmericanWriters
We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,
137 Flowers—Well—if anybody Can the ecstasy define— Half a transport—half a trouble— With which flowers humble men:
614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—
154 Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels—lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.
415 Sunset at Night—is natural— But Sunset on the Dawn Reverses Nature—Master— So Midnight's—due—at Noon.
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
387 The sweetest Heresy received That Man and Woman know— Each Other’s Convert— Though the Faith accommodate but…
648 Promise This—When You be Dying— Some shall summon Me— Mine belong Your latest Sighing— Mine—to Belt Your Eye—
302 Like Some Old fashioned Miracle When Summertime is done— Seems Summer’s Recollection And the Affairs of June
69 Low at my problem bending, Another problem comes— Larger than mine—Serener— Involving statelier sums.
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
402 I pay—in Satin Cash— You did not state—your price— A Petal, for a Paragraph It near as I can guess—
534 We see—Comparatively— The Thing so towering high We could not grasp its segment Unaided—Yesterday—
718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—
580 I gave myself to Him— And took Himself, for Pay, The solemn contract of a Life Was ratified, this way—
