#AmericanWriters
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin,
LXXXV A LIGHT exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here
639 My Portion is Defeat—today— A paler luck than Victory— Less Paeans—fewer Bells— The Drums don’t follow Me—with tu…
140 An altered look about the hills— A Tyrian light the village fills— A wider sunrise in the morn— A deeper twilight on the lawn—
678 Wolfe demanded during dying “Which obtain the Day”? “General, the British”—"Easy” Answered Wolfe “to die”
XXXIV NATURE is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon— Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee… Nay—Nature is Heaven.
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.
To mend each tattered Faith There is a needle fair Though no appearance indicate ’Tis threaded in the Air And though it do not wear
555 Trust in the Unexpected— By this—was William Kidd Persuaded of the Buried Gold— As One had testified—
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
576 I prayed, at first, a little Girl… Because they told me to— But stopped, when qualified to gue… How prayer would feel—to me—
A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in
II OUR share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.