#AmericanWriters
924 Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself—
373 I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way— And so I deck, a little,
401 What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush… Or violate a Star—
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
659 That first Day, when you praised… And said that I was strong— And could be mighty, if I liked— That Day—the Days among—
LXXXII THERE’S a certain slant of ligh… On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.
XXXIII DARE you see a soul at the white… Then crouch within the door. Red is the fire’s common tint; But when the vivid ore
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
“Why do I love” You, Sir? Because’— The Wind does not require the Gra… To answer’—Wherefore when He pass She cannot keep Her place.
740 You taught me Waiting with Myself… Appointment strictly kept’— You taught me fortitude of Fate’— This’—also’—I have learnt’—
99 New feet within my garden go— New fingers stir the sod— A Troubadour upon the Elm Betrays the solitude.
Declaiming Waters none may dread… But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature– they are full –
777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—
189 It’s such a little thing to weep— So short a thing to sigh— And yet—by Trades—the size of the… We men and women die!
954 The Chemical conviction That Nought be lost Enable in Disaster My fractured Trust—
