#AmericanWriters
150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
208 The Rose did caper on her cheek— Her Bodice rose and fell— Her pretty speech—like drunken men… Did stagger pitiful—
792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—
267 Did we disobey Him? Just one time! Charged us to forget Him— But we couldn’t learn!
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
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
LXXIII I ’LL tell you how the sun rose,— A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
200 I stole them from a Bee— Because—Thee— Sweet plea— He pardoned me!
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
MY cocoon tightens, colors tease, I 'm feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be
322 There came a Day at Summer’s full… Entirely for me— I thought that such were for the… Where Resurrections—be—
An everywhere of silver, With ropes of sand To keep it from effacing The track called land.
390 It’s coming—the postponeless Crea… It gains the Block—and now—it gai… Chooses its latch, from all the ot… Enters—with a “You know Me—Sir”?