#AmericanWriters
XXXIV NATURE is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon— Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee… Nay—Nature is Heaven.
705 Suspense—is Hostiler than Death— Death—tho’soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increas… Suspense—does not conclude –
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
72 Glowing is her Bonnet, Glowing is her Cheek, Glowing is her Kirtle, Yet she cannot speak.
143 For every Bird a Nest— Wherefore in timid quest Some little Wren goes seeking rou… Wherefore when boughs are free—
56 If I should cease to bring a Rose Upon a festal day, ‘Twill be because beyond the Rose I have been called away—
I noticed People disappeared When but a little child - Supposed they visited remote Or settled Regions wild - But did because they died
588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—
852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.
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—
We don’t cry—Tim and I, We are far too grand— But we bolt the door tight To prevent a friend— Then we hide our brave face
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
469 The Red—Blaze—is the Morning— The Violet—is Noon— The Yellow—Day—is falling— And after that—is none—
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!
514 Her smile was shaped like other sm… The Dimples ran along— And still it hurt you, as some Bi… Did hoist herself, to sing,