#AmericanWriters
881 I’ve none to tell me to but Thee So when Thou failest, nobody. It was a little tie— It just held Two, nor those it he…
202 My Eye is fuller than my vase— Her Cargo—is of Dew— And still—my Heart—my Eye outweig… East India—for you!
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.
646 I think to Live—may be a Bliss To those who dare to try— Beyond my limit to conceive— My lip—to testify—
How Human Nature dotes On what it can’t detect. The moment that a Plot is plumbed Prospective is extinct - Prospective is the friend
270 One Life of so much Consequence! Yet I—for it—would pay— My Soul’s entire income— In ceaseless—salary—
LXXXV A LIGHT exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here
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—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—
410 The first Day’s Night had come— And grateful that a thing So terrible—had been endured— I told my Soul to sing—
538 ’Tis true—They shut me in the Col… But then—Themselves were warm And could not know the feeling ’tw… Forget it—Lord—of Them—
99 New feet within my garden go— New fingers stir the sod— A Troubadour upon the Elm Betrays the solitude.