#AmericanWriters
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.
729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—
903 I hide myself within my flower, That fading from your Vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me— Almost a loneliness.
XXV Wild nights—Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury!
859 A doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
122 A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon—
Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets,… Prodigal of blue, Spending scarlet like a woman,
603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East
XXXVIII THROUGH the straight pass of su… The martyrs even trod, Their feet upon temptation, Their faces upon God.
5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—
293 I got so I could take his name— Without—Tremendous gain— That Stop-sensation—on my Soul— And Thunder—in the Room—
There is another Loneliness That many die without - Not want of friend occasions it Or circumstances of Lot But nature, sometimes, sometimes t…
485 To make One’s Toilette—after Dea… Has made the Toilette cool Of only Taste we cared to please Is difficult, and still—
14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.