#AmericanWriters
889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep
970 Color — Caste — Denomination — These — are Time's Affair — Death's diviner Classifying Does not know they are —
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
340 Is Bliss then, such Abyss, I must not put my foot amiss For fear I spoil my shoe? I’d rather suit my foot
694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—
Had we our senses But perhaps ’tis well they’re not… So intimate with Madness He’s liable with them Had we the eyes without our Head—
A Wind that rose Though not a Leaf In any Forest stirred But with itself did cold engage Beyond the Realm of Bird -
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
60 Like her the Saints retire, In their Chapeaux of fire, Martial as she! Like her the Evenings steal
Going to him! Happy letter! Tell… Tell him the page I didn’t write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun… Tell him just how the fingers hurr…
265 Where Ships of Purple—gently toss… On Seas of Daffodil— Fantastic Sailors—mingle— And then—the Wharf is still!
844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,
914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude
438 Forget! The lady with the Amulet Forget she wore it at her Heart Because she breathed against Was Treason twixt?