#AmericanWriters
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,
646 I think to Live—may be a Bliss To those who dare to try— Beyond my limit to conceive— My lip—to testify—
934 That is solemn we have ended Be it but a Play Or a Glee among the Garret Or a Holiday
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by! From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory! From marshallings as simple
695 As if the Sea should part And show a further Sea— And that—a further—and the Three But a presumption be—
781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—
783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—
481 The Himmaleh was known to stoop Unto the Daisy low— Transported with Compassion That such a Doll should grow
A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa… Conscious—as old Napoleon,
461 A Wife—at daybreak I shall be— Sunrise—Hast thou a Flag for me? At Midnight, I am but a Maid, How short it takes to make a Brid…
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
748 Autumn—overlooked my Knitting— Dyes—said He—have I— Could disparage a Flamingo— Show Me them—said I—
757 The Mountains—grow unnoticed— Their Purple figures rise Without attempt—Exhaustion— Assistance—or Applause—
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power