#AmericanWriters
Me! Come! My dazzled face In such a shining place! Me! Hear! My foreign ear The sounds of welcome near! The saints shall meet
903 I hide myself within my flower, That fading from your Vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me— Almost a loneliness.
983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?
869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid
395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity
I held a Jewel in my fingers’— And went to sleep’— The day was warm, and winds were p… I said 'Twill keep’— I woke’—and chid my honest fingers…
1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.
218 Is it true, dear Sue? Are there two? I shouldn’t like to come For fear of joggling Him!
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
221 It can’t be “Summer”! That—got through! It’s early—yet—for “Spring”! There’s that long town of White—t…
The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,
506 He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast— It was a boundless place to me
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -