#AmericanWriters
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity
139 Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost indeed— But tens have won an all—
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
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—
VII WITHIN my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village…
931 Noon—is the Hinge of Day— Evening—the Tissue Door— Morning—the East compelling the s… Till all the World is ajar—
819 All I may, if small, Do it not display Larger for the Totalness— ’Tis Economy
I had been hungry all the years– My noon had come, to dine– I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. ‘T was this on tables I had seen
I held a Jewel in my fingers’— And went to sleep’— The day was warm, and winds were p… I said 'Twill keep’— I woke’—and chid my honest fingers…
163 Tho’ my destiny be Fustian— Hers be damask fine— Tho’ she wear a silver apron— I, a less divine—
Good night! which put the candle o… A jealous zephyr, not a doubt. Ah! friend, you little knew How long at that celestial wick The angels labored diligent;
359 I gained it so— By Climbing slow— By Catching at the Twigs that gro… Between the Bliss—and me—
Not Sickness stains the Brave, Nor any Dart, Nor Doubt of Scene to come, But an adjourning Heart -
736 Have any like Myself Investigating March, New Houses on the Hill descried— And possibly a Church—