#AmericanWriters
329 So glad we are—a Stranger’d deem ’Twas sorry, that we were— For where the Holiday should be There publishes a Tear—
35 Nobody knows this little Rose— It might a pilgrim be Did I not take it from the ways And lift it up to thee.
373 I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way— And so I deck, a little,
215 What is – “Paradise” – Who live there – Are they “Farmers” – Do they “hoe” –
They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the June A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…
There is no Silence in the Earth… As that endured Which uttered, would discourage N… And haunt the World.
617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—
801 I play at Riches—to appease The Clamoring for Gold— It kept me from a Thief, I think, For often, overbold
LXXIX I YEARS had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before
845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!
693 Shells from the Coast mistaking— I cherished them for All— Happening in After Ages To entertain a Pearl—
“I want”—it pleaded—All its life— I want—was chief it said When Skill entreated it—the last— And when so newly dead— I could not deem it late—to hear
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
203 He forgot—and I—remembered— ’Twas an everyday affair— Long ago as Christ and Peter— “Warmed them” at the “Temple fire…
952 A Man may make a Remark— In itself—a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a… In dormant nature—lain—
