#AmericanWriters
LXXIX I YEARS had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before
144 She bore it till the simple veins Traced azure on her hand— Til pleading, round her quiet eyes The purple Crayons stand.
823 Not that We did, shall be the tes… When Act and Will are done But what Our Lord infers We woul… Had We diviner been—
146 On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair—
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
486 I was the slightest in the House— I took the smallest Room— At night, my little Lamp, and Boo… And one Geranium—
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—
411 The Color of the Grave is Green— The Outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Fi… Except it own a Stone—
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple Host
Drowning is not so pitiful As the attempt to rise. Three times, 't is said, a sinking… Comes up to face the skies, And then declines forever
20 Distrustful of the Gentian— And just to turn away, The fluttering of her fringes Child my perfidy—
774 It is a lonesome Glee— Yet sanctifies the Mind— With fair association— Afar upon the Wind
XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.
271 A solemn thing—it was—I said— A woman—white—to be— And wear—if God should count me f… Her blameless mystery—
Your Riches—taught me—Poverty. Myself—a Millionaire In little Wealths, as Girls could… Till broad as Buenos Ayre— You drifted your Dominions—
