#AmericanWriters
651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing
599 There is a pain—so utter— It swallows substance up— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
Between My Country—and the Other… There is a Sea— But Flowers—negotiate between us— As Ministry.
20 Distrustful of the Gentian— And just to turn away, The fluttering of her fringes Child my perfidy—
927 Absent Place—an April Day— Daffodils a-blow Homesick curiosity To the Souls that snow—
90 Within my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered thro’ the village—
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By strech of limb or stir of lid,— An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?
717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—
516 Beauty—be not caused—It Is— Chase it, and it ceases— Chase it not, and it abides— Overtake the Creases
661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me
509 If anybody’s friend be dead It’s sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive… At such and such a time—
796 Who Giants know, with lesser Men Are incomplete, and shy— For Greatness, that is ill at eas… In minor Company—
A lane of Yellow led the eye Unto a Purple Wood Whose soft inhabitants to be Surpasses solitude If Bird the silence contradict
776 The Color of a Queen, is this— The Color of a Sun At setting—this and Amber— Beryl—and this, at Noon—
29 If those I loved were lost The Crier’s voice would tell me— If those I loved were found The bells of Ghent would ring—
