#AmericanWriters
94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?
XVIII READ, sweet, how others strove, Till we are stouter; What they renounced, Till we are less afraid;
Going to him! Happy letter! Tell… Tell him the page I didn’t write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun… Tell him just how the fingers hurr…
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
839 Always Mine! No more Vacation! Term of Light this Day begun! Failless as the fair rotation
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
923 How the Waters closed above Him We shall never know— How He stretched His Anguish to… That—is covered too—
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more. Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s p…
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?
Revolution is the Pod Systems rattle from When the Winds of Will are stirre… Excellent is Bloom But except its Russet Base
385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—
888 When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House— And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place—
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—