#AmericanWriters
A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,
38 By such and such an offering To Mr. So and So, The web of live woven— So martyrs albums show!
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
Of Brussels—it was not— Of Kidderminster? Nay— The Winds did buy it of the Woods… They—sold it unto me It was a gentle price—
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
28 So has a Daisy vanished From the fields today— So tiptoed many a slipper To Paradise away—
560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—
897 How fortunate the Grave— All Prizes to obtain— Successful certain, if at last, First Suitor not in vain.
606 The Trees like Tassels—hit—and sw… There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying the Sun—
I see thee better—in the Dark— I do not need a Light— The Love of Thee—a Prism be— Excelling Violet— I see thee better for the Years
LXXIX I YEARS had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before
The earth has many keys, Where melody is not Is the unknown peninsula. Beauty is nature’s fact. But witness for her land,
My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper
XXXVII LOVE is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.
199 I’m “wife”—I’ve finished that— That other state— I’m Czar—I’m “Woman” now— It’s safer so—
