#AmericanWriters
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
96 Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here… Pray lead me to his bed! I came to build the Bird’s nest, And sow the Early seed—
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,
761 From Blank to Blank— A Threadless Way I pushed Mechanic feet— To stop—or perish—or advance—
920 We can but follow to the Sun— As oft as He go down He leave Ourselves a Sphere behin… ’Tis mostly—following—
912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.
Could Hope inspect her Basis Her Craft were done - Has a fictitious Charter Or it has none - Balked in the vastest instance
108 Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit—Life!
92 My friend must be a Bird’— Because it flies! Mortal, my friend must be, Because it dies!
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—
504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
135 Water, is taught by thirst. Land—by the Oceans passed. Transport—by throe— Peace—by its battles told—