#AmericanWriters
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—
720 No Prisoner be— Where Liberty— Himself—abide with Thee—
547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—
They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the June A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…
912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.
348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—
732 She rose to His Requirement—dropt The Playthings of Her Life To take the honorable Work Of Woman, and of Wife—
LXII A DROP fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh.
Who were “the Father and the Son” We pondered when a child, And what had they to do with us And when portentous told With inference appalling
145 This heart that broke so long— These feet that never flagged— This faith that watched for star i… Give gently to the dead—
558 But little Carmine hath her face— Of Emerald scant—her Gown— Her Beauty—is the love she doth— Itself—exhibit—Mine&md ash;
These—saw Visions— Latch them softly— These—held Dimples— Smooth them slow— This—addressed departing accents—
Luck is not chance It’s Toil Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned The Father of the Mine
944 I learned—at least—what Home coul… How ignorant I had been Of pretty ways of Covenant— How awkward at the Hymn
