#AmericanWriters
809 Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity— Unable they that love—to die
Lives he in any other world My faith cannot reply Before it was imperative ’Twas all distinct to me -
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
XVII WHEN night is almost done, And sunrise grows so near That we can touch the spaces, It ’s time to smooth the hair
714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—
12 The morns are meeker than they wer… The nuts are getting brown— The berry’s cheek is plumper— The Rose is out of town.
A Wind that rose Though not a Leaf In any Forest stirred But with itself did cold engage Beyond the Realm of Bird -
191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!
By homely gift and hindered Words The human heart is told Of Nothing - ‘Nothing’ is the force That renovates the World -
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
689 The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous— We learned to like the Fire By playing Glaciers—when a Boy— And Tinder—guessed—by power
Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The Hour, and the Clime -
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
600 It troubled me as once I was— For I was once a Child— Concluding how an Atom—fell— And yet the Heavens—held—
628 They called me to the Window, for “ ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said— I only saw a Sapphire Farm— And just a Single Herd—