#AmericanWriters
111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—
801 I play at Riches—to appease The Clamoring for Gold— It kept me from a Thief, I think, For often, overbold
120 If this is “fading” Oh let me immediately “fade”! If this is “dying” Bury me, in such a shroud of red!
‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us
851 When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face— When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race
The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—
She could not live upon the Past The Present did not know her And so she sought this sweet at la… And nature gently owned her The mother that has not a knell
411 The Color of the Grave is Green— The Outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Fi… Except it own a Stone—
900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness
294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—
501 This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond— Invisible, as Music— But positive, as Sound—
963 A nearness to Tremendousness— An Agony procures— Affliction ranges Boundlessness— Vicinity to Laws
392 Through the Dark Sod—as Educatio… The Lily passes sure— Feels her white foot—no trepidatio… Her faith—no fear—
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
300 ‘Morning’—means 'Milking’—to the… Dawn’—to the Teneriffe’— Dice’—to the Maid’— Morning means just Risk’—to the L…