#AmericanWriters
I meant to find her when I came; Death had the same design; But the success was his, it seems, And the discomfit mine. I meant to tell her how I longed
504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
FORBIDDEN fruit a flavor has That lawful orchards mocks; How luscious lies the pea within The pod that Duty locks!
132 I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching Next to mine, And summon them to drink;
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
227 Teach Him – When He makes the na… Such an one – to say – On his babbling – Berry – lips – As should sound – to me –
439 Undue Significance a starving man… To Food— Far off—He sighs—and therefore—Ho… And therefore—Good—
348 I would not paint—a picture— I’d rather be the One It’s bright impossibility To dwell—delicious—on—
168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!
175 I have never seen “Volcanoes”— But, when Travellers tell How those old—phlegmatic mountains Usually so still—
699 The Judge is like the Owl— I’ve heard my Father tell— And Owls do build in Oaks— So here’s an Amber Sill—
The Snow that never drifts - The transient, fragrant snow That comes a single time a Year Is softly driving now - So thorough in the Tree
39 It did not surprise me— So I said—or thought— She will stir her pinions And the nest forgot,