#AmericanWriters
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
938 Fairer through Fading—as the Day Into the Darkness dips away— Half Her Complexion of the Sun— Hindering—Haunting—Perishing—
386 Answer July— Where is the Bee— Where is the Blush— Where is the Hay?
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
523 Sweet — You forgot — but I rememb… Every time — for Two — So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You —
394 ’Twas Love’—not me’— Oh punish’—pray’— The Real one died for Thee’— Just Him’—not me’—
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
The thought beneath so slight a fi… Is more distincly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.
805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—
766 My Faith is larger than the Hills… So when the Hills decay— My Faith must take the Purple Wh… To show the Sun the way—
806 A Planted Life—diversified With Gold and Silver Pain To prove the presence of the Ore In Particles—'tis when
54 If I should die, And you should live— And time should gurgle on— And morn should beam—
Warm in her Hand these accents li… While faithful and afar The Grace so awkward for her sake Its fond subjection wear -
592 What care the Dead, for Chanticle… What care the Dead for Day? ’Tis late your Sunrise vex their… And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning