#AmericanWriters
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun! Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass…
We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,
915 Faith’—is the Pierless Bridge Supporting what We see Unto the Scene that We do not’— Too slender for the eye
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
Revolution is the Pod Systems rattle from When the Winds of Will are stirre… Excellent is Bloom But except its Russet Base
You said that I “was Great”'—one… Then “Great” it be’—if that pleas… Or Small’—or any size at all’— Nay’—I’m the size suit Thee’— Tall’—like the Stag’—would that?
708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—
A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached— Whose Chimney never smoked—
There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
LXVII A DEED knocks first at thought, And then it knocks at will. That is the manufacturing spot, And will at home and well.
950 The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Sunset hence must be For treason not of His, but Life’… Gone Westerly, Today—
824 [first version] The Wind begun to knead the Grass… As Women do a Dough— He flung a Hand full at the Plain…
111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—
As from the earth the light Ballo… Asks nothing but release - Ascension that for which it was, Its soaring Residence. The spirit looks upon the Dust