#AmericanWriters
1068 Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass.
348 I would not paint—a picture— I’d rather be the One It’s bright impossibility To dwell—delicious—on—
I watched the Moon around the Hou… Until upon a Pane— She stopped—a Traveller’s privile… And there upon I gazed—as at a stranger—
724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—
463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
Part One: Life LI IT tossed and tossed,— A little brig I knew,— O’ertook by blast,
392 Through the Dark Sod—as Educatio… The Lily passes sure— Feels her white foot—no trepidatio… Her faith—no fear—
868 They ask but our Delight— The Darlings of the Soil And grant us all their Countenanc… For a penurious smile.
826 Love reckons by itself—alone— “As large as I”—relate the Sun To One who never felt it blaze— Itself is all the like it has—
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!
XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.
387 The sweetest Heresy received That Man and Woman know— Each Other’s Convert— Though the Faith accommodate but…
793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—
24 There is a morn by men unseen— Whose maids upon remoter green Keep their Seraphic May— And all day long, with dance and g…