#AmericanWriters
Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets,… Prodigal of blue, Spending scarlet like a woman,
In snow thou comest - Thou shalt go with the resuming gr… The sweet derision of the crow, And Glee’s advancing sound. In fear thou comest -
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,
407 If What we could—were what we wou… Criterion—be small— It is the Ultimate of Talk— The Impotence to Tell—
490 To One denied the drink To tell what Water is Would be acuter, would it not Than letting Him surmise?
The dying need but little, dear,— A glass of water’s all, A flower’s unobtrusive face To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend’s regret,
The earth has many keys, Where melody is not Is the unknown peninsula. Beauty is nature’s fact. But witness for her land,
98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!
284 The Drop, that wrestles in the Se… Forgets her own locality— As I—toward Thee— She knows herself an incense small…
There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
XXXIV WHO never lost, are unprepared A coronet to find; Who never thirsted, flagons And cooling tamarind.
949 Under the Light, yet under, Under the Grass and the Dirt, Under the Beetle’s Cellar Under the Clover’s Root,
689 The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous— We learned to like the Fire By playing Glaciers—when a Boy— And Tinder—guessed—by power
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
486 I was the slightest in the House— I took the smallest Room— At night, my little Lamp, and Boo… And one Geranium—