#AmericanWriters
Water makes many Beds For those averse to sleep - Its awful chamber open stands - Its Curtains blandly sweep - Abhorrent is the Rest
599 There is a pain—so utter— It swallows substance up— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,
19 A sepal, petal, and a thorn Upon a common summer’s morn— A flask of Dew—A Bee or two— A Breeze—a caper in the trees—
148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.
351 I felt my life with both my hands To see if it was there— I held my spirit to the Glass, To prove it possibler—
481 The Himmaleh was known to stoop Unto the Daisy low— Transported with Compassion That such a Doll should grow
614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.
A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
How lonesome the Wind must feel N… When people have put out the Ligh… And everything that has an Inn Closes the shutter and goes in— How pompous the Wind must feel No…
119 Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of “Potose,” and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines!
289 I know some lonely Houses off the… A Robber’d like the look of— Wooden barred, And Windows hanging low,
586 We talked as Girls do— Fond, and late— We speculated fair, on every subje… Of ours, none affair—
