#AmericanWriters
707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—
311 It sifts from Leaden Sieves— It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road—
The thought beneath so slight a fi… Is more distincly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.
It is an honorable thought, And makes one lift one’s hat, As one encountered gentlefolk Upon a daily street, That we’ve immortal place,
1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.
877 Each Scar I’ll keep for Him Instead I’ll say of Gem In His long Absence worn A Costlier one
To see her is a Picture— To hear her is a Tune— To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June— To know her not—Affliction—
663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine
616 I rose—because He sank— I thought it would be opposite— But when his power dropped— My Soul grew straight.
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
The Devil—had he fidelity Would be the best friend— Because he has ability— But Devils cannot mend— Perfidy is the virtue
506 He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast— It was a boundless place to me
