#AmericanWriters
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 Has vanquished Flame’s conditions…
767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine
They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the lune A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…
XXXIV NATURE is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon— Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee… Nay—Nature is Heaven.
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
672 The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come—
368 How sick—to wait—in any place—but… I knew last night—when someone tri… Thinking—perhaps—that I looked ti… Or breaking—almost—with unspoken p…
397 When Diamonds are a Legend, And Diadems—a Tale— I Brooch and Earrings for Myself… Do sow, and Raise for sale—
285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
25 She slept beneath a tree— Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute— She recognized the foot—
34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—
109 By a flower—By a letter— By a nimble love— If I weld the Rivet faster— Final fast—above—
390 It’s coming—the postponeless Crea… It gains the Block—and now—it gai… Chooses its latch, from all the ot… Enters—with a “You know Me—Sir”?
XXXII HOPE is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the wor… And never stops at all,