#AmericanWriters
202 My Eye is fuller than my vase— Her Cargo—is of Dew— And still—my Heart—my Eye outweig… East India—for you!
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
788 Joy to have merited the Pain— To merit the Release— Joy to have perished every step— To Compass Paradise—
206 The Flower must not blame the Bee… That seeketh his felicity Too often at her door— But teach the Footman from Vevay—
Are Friends Delight or Pain? Could Bounty but remain Riches were good - But if they only stay Ampler to fly away
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you
638 To my small Hearth His fire came— And all my House aglow Did fan and rock, with sudden ligh… ’Twas Sunrise—'twas the Sky—
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
A chilly Peace infests the Grass The Sun respectful lies - Not any Trance of industry These shadows scrutinize - Whose Allies go no more astray
837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.
I many times thought Peace had co… When Peace was far away’— As Wrecked Men’—deem they sight t… At Centre of the Sea’— And struggle slacker’—but to prove
“Morning”—means “Milking”—to the… Dawn—to the Teneriffe— Dice—to the Maid— Morning means just Risk—to the Lo… Just revelation—to the Beloved—
955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—
