#AmericanWriters
165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!
997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise
452 The Malay—took the Pearl— Not—I—the Earl— I—feared the Sea—too much Unsanctified—to touch—
69 Low at my problem bending, Another problem comes— Larger than mine—Serener— Involving statelier sums.
659 That first Day, when you praised… And said that I was strong— And could be mighty, if I liked— That Day—the Days among—
314 Nature—sometimes sears a Sapling— Sometimes—scalps a Tree— Her Green People recollect it When they do not die—
447 Could—I do more—for Thee— Wert Thou a Bumble Bee— Since for the Queen, have I— Nought but Bouquet?
824 [first version] The Wind begun to knead the Grass… As Women do a Dough— He flung a Hand full at the Plain…
42 A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by! From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory!
407 If What we could—were what we wou… Criterion—be small— It is the Ultimate of Talk— The Impotence to Tell—
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
68 Ambition cannot find him. Affection doesn’t know How many leagues of nowhere Lie between them now.
570 I could die—to know— ’Tis a trifling knowledge— News-Boys salute the Door— Carts—joggle by—