#AmericanWriters
913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end
755 No Bobolink—reverse His Singing When the only Tree Ever He minded occupying By the Farmer be—
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
It dropped so low in my regard I heard it hit the ground, And go to pieces on the stones At bottom of my mind; Yet blamed the fate that fractured…
“Arcturus” is his other name’— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere! I slew a worm the other day’—
206 The Flower must not blame the Bee… That seeketh his felicity Too often at her door— But teach the Footman from Vevay—
XL THE thought beneath so slight a f… Is more distinctly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.
597 It always felt to me—a wrong To that Old Moses—done— To let him see—the Canaan— Without the entering—
73 Who never lost, are unprepared A Coronet to find! Who never thirsted Flagons, and Cooling Tamarind!
76 Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, Past the houses—past the headlands… Into deep Eternity—
460 I know where Wells grow’—Droughtl… Deep dug’—for Summer days’— Where Mosses go no more away’— And Pebble’—safely plays’—
Yesterday is History, ’Tis so far away - Yesterday is Poetry - ’Tis Philosophy - Yesterday is mystery -
819 All I may, if small, Do it not display Larger for the Totalness— ’Tis Economy
XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
246 Forever at His side to walk— The smaller of the two! Brain of His Brain— Blood of His Blood—