#AmericanWriters
697 I could bring You Jewels—had I a… But You have enough—of those— I could bring You Odors from St.… Colors—from Vera Cruz—
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—
969 He who in Himself believes— Fraud cannot presume— Faith is Constancy’s Result— And assumes—from Home—
867 Escaping backward to perceive The Sea upon our place— Escaping forward, to confront His glittering Embrace—
THE BAT is dun with wrinkled wi… Like fallow article, And not a song pervades his lips, Or none perceptible. His small umbrella, quaintly halve…
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
340 Is Bliss then, such Abyss, I must not put my foot amiss For fear I spoil my shoe? I’d rather suit my foot
224 I've nothing else—to bring, You k… So I keep bringing These— Just as the Night keeps fetching… To our familiar eyes—
Me prove it now —Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it —now — Make haste —the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity — The River reaches to my feet —
853 When One has given up One’s life The parting with the rest Feels easy, as when Day lets go Entirely the West
This quiet dust was gentlemen and… And lads and girls; Was laughter and ability and sighi… And frocks and curls; This passive place a summer’s nimb…
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
313 I should have been too glad, I se… Too lifted—for the scant degree Of Life’s penurious Round— My little Circuit would have sham…
286 That after Horror — that ’twas us… That passed the mouldering Pier — Just as the Granite Crumb let go… Our Savior, by a Hair —