#AmericanWriters
My books I’d fain cast off, I can… ‘Twixt every page my thoughts go s… Down in the meadow, where is riche… And will not mind to hit their pro… Plutarch was good, and so was Hom…
Away! away! away! away! Ye have not kept your secret well, I will abide that other day, Those other lands ye tell. Has time no leisure left for these…
O Nature! I do not aspire To be the highest in thy choir, - To be a meteor in thy sky, Or comet that may range on high; Only a zephyr that may blow
I think awhile of Love, and while… Love is to me a world, Sole meat and sweetest drink, And close connecting link Tween heaven and earth.
Sending In delinquency To disappoint The amber of water At a high soul
My life has been the poem I would have writ, But I could not both live and utter it.
ALL things are current found On earthly ground, Spirits and elements Have their descents. Night and day, year on year,
They who prepare my evening meal b… Carelessly hit the kettle as they… With tongs or shovel, And ringing round and round, Out of this hovel
I was made erect and lone, And within me is the bone; Still my vision will be clear, Still my life will not be drear, To the center all is near.
Indeed indeed, I cannot tell, Though I ponder on it well, Which were easier to state, All my love or all my hate. Surely, surely, thou wilt trust me
I am a parcel of vain strivings ti… By a chance bond together, Dangling this way and that, their… Were made so loose and wide, Methinks,
Great God, I ask for no meaner pe… Than that I may not disappoint my… That in my action I may soar as h… As I can now discern with this cl… And next in value, which thy kindn…
Mine are the night and morning, The pits of air, the gull of space… The sportive sun, the gibbous moon… The innumerable days. I hide in the solar glory,
Light-winged Smoke, Icarian bird, Melting thy pinions in thy upward… Lark without song, and messenger o… Circling above the hamlets as they… Or else, departing dream, and shad…
Low-anchored cloud, Newfoundland air, Fountain head and source of rivers… Dew-cloth, dream drapery, And napkin spread by fays;