#AmericanWriters
668 “Nature” is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven—
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
A little Dog that wags his tail And knows no other joy Of such a little Dog am I Reminded by a Boy Who gambols all the living Day
On this wondrous sea Sailing silently, Ho! Pilot, ho! Knowest thou the shore Where no breakers roar—
Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found - Returns us not, but after time
XI MUCH madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’T is the majority
776 The Color of a Queen, is this— The Color of a Sun At setting—this and Amber— Beryl—and this, at Noon—
XCVI MY life closed twice before its c… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me,
52 Whether my bark went down at sea— Whether she met with gales— Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails—
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,
472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—
543 I fear a Man of frugal Speech— I fear a Silent Man— Haranguer—I can overtake— Or Babbler—entertain—
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
425 Good Morning—Midnight— I’m coming Home— Day—got tired of Me— How could I—of Him?
