#AmericanWriters
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
20 Distrustful of the Gentian— And just to turn away, The fluttering of her fringes Child my perfidy—
The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—
699 The Judge is like the Owl— I’ve heard my Father tell— And Owls do build in Oaks— So here’s an Amber Sill—
246 Forever at His side to walk— The smaller of the two! Brain of His Brain— Blood of His Blood—
We don’t cry—Tim and I, We are far too grand— But we bolt the door tight To prevent a friend— Then we hide our brave face
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,
899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.
850 I sing to use the Waiting My Bonnet but to tie And shut the Door unto my House No more to do have I
553 One Crucifixion is recorded’—only… How many be Is not affirmed of Mathematics’— Or History’—
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
The thought beneath so slight a fi… Is more distincly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.
954 The Chemical conviction That Nought be lost Enable in Disaster My fractured Trust—