#AmericanWriters
1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—
Let me not mar that perfect Dream By an Auroral stain But so adjust my daily Night That it will come again. Not when we know, the Power accos…
’Twas Crisis—All the length had p… That dull—benumbing time There is in Fever or Event— And now the Chance had come— The instant holding in its claw
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—
669 No Romance sold unto Could so enthrall a Man As the perusal of His Individual One—
656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
XXV BELSHAZZAR had a letter,— He never had but one; Belshazzar’s correspondent Concluded and begun
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
473 I am ashamed’—I hide’— What right have I’—to be a Bride’… So late a Dowerless Girl’— Nowhere to hide my dazzled Face’—
134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil
610 You’ll find—it when you try to die… The Easier to let go— For recollecting such as went— You could not spare—you know.
651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing
539 The Province of the Saved Should be the Art—To save— Through Skill obtained in Themsel… The Science of the Grave
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
