#AmericanWriters
818 I could not drink it, Sweet, Till You had tasted first, Though cooler than the Water was The Thoughtfullness of Thirst.
671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
73 Who never lost, are unprepared A Coronet to find! Who never thirsted Flagons, and Cooling Tamarind!
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
981 As Sleigh Bells seem in summer Or Bees, at Christmas show— So fairy—so fictitious The individuals do
There comes a warning like a spy A shorter breath of Day A stealing that is not a stealth And Summers are away
929 How far is it to Heaven? As far as Death this way— Of River or of Ridge beyond Was no discovery.
I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since
Escape is such a thankful Word I often in the Night Consider it unto myself No spectacle in sight Escape - it is the Basket
Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -
936 This Dust, and its Feature— Accredited—Today—Will in a s… Cease to identify— This Mind, and its measure—
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,
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
479 She dealt her pretty words like B… How glittering they shone— And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone—