#AmericanWriters
592 What care the Dead, for Chanticle… What care the Dead for Day? ’Tis late your Sunrise vex their… And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning
How firm Eternity must look To crumbling men like me The only Adamant Estate In all Identity - How mighty to the insecure
517 He parts Himself’—like Leaves’— And then’—He closes up’— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup’—
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
382 For Death—or rather For the Things 'twould buy— This—put away Life’s Opportunity—
33 If recollecting were forgetting, Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot.
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
774 It is a lonesome Glee— Yet sanctifies the Mind— With fair association— Afar upon the Wind
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
Tell as a Marksman - were forgot… Tell - this Day endures Ruddy as that coeval Apple The Tradition bears - Fresh as Mankind that humble stor…
952 A Man may make a Remark— In itself—a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a… In dormant nature—lain—
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
192 Poor little Heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little Heart!
376 Of Course—I prayed— And did God Care? He cared as much as on the Air A Bird—had stamped her foot—