#AmericanWriters
805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—
The show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be. Fair play—
319 Of Bronze—and Blaze— The North—tonight— So adequate—it forms— So preconcerted with itself—
159 A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa…
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
1540 As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away— Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy—
527 To put this World down, like a Bu… And walk steady, away, Requires Energy—possibly Agony— ’Tis the Scarlet way
114 Good night, because we must, How intricate the dust! I would go, to know! Oh incognito!
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.
Those fair—fictitious People— The Women—plucked away From our familiar Lifetime— The Men of Ivory— Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
Whose Pink career may have a clos… Portentous as our own, who knows? To imitate these Neighbors fleet In awe and innocence, were meet.
639 My Portion is Defeat—today— A paler luck than Victory— Less Paeans—fewer Bells— The Drums don’t follow Me—with tu…
672 The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come—
883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light