#AmericanWriters
717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—
434 To love thee Year by Year— May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease— However, dear,
349 I had the Glory—that will do— An Honor, Thought can turn her to When lesser Fames invite— With one long “Nay”—
888 When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House— And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place—
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
163 Tho’ my destiny be Fustian— Hers be damask fine— Tho’ she wear a silver apron— I, a less divine—
XVII SHE rose to his requirement, drop… The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife.
A chilly Peace infests the Grass The Sun respectful lies - Not any Trance of industry These shadows scrutinize - Whose Allies go no more astray
251 Over the fence— Strawberries—grow— Over the fence— I could climb—if I tried, I know—
509 If anybody’s friend be dead It’s sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive… At such and such a time—
624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—
166 I met a King this afternoon! He had not on a Crown indeed, A little Palmleaf Hat was all, And he was barefoot, I’m afraid!
402 I pay—in Satin Cash— You did not state—your price— A Petal, for a Paragraph It near as I can guess—
428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—
LXVII If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam,