#AmericanWriters
793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.
792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—
886 These tested Our Horizon— Then disappeared As Birds before achieving A Latitude.
861 Split the Lark—and you’ll find th… Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled… Scantilly dealt to the Summer Mor… Saved for your Ear when Lutes be…
217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?
649 Her Sweet turn to leave the Homes… Came the Darker Way— Carriages—Be Sure—and Guests—too… But for Holiday
178 I cautious, scanned my little life… I winnowed what would fade From what would last till Heads l… Should be a-dreaming laid.
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
199 I’m “wife”—I’ve finished that— That other state— I’m Czar—I’m “Woman” now— It’s safer so—
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
311 It sifts from Leaden Sieves— It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road—