#AmericanWriters
23 I had a guinea golden— I lost it in the sand— And tho’ the sum was simple And pounds were in the land—
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
XXVII I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you—Nobody—too? Then there’s a pair of us! Don’t tell! they’d advertise—you k…
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
296 One Year ago—jots what? God—spell the word! I—can’t— Was’t Grace? Not that— Was’t Glory? That—will do—
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
There’s been a death in the opposi… As lately as to-day. I know it by the numb look Such houses have alway. The neighbors rustle in and out,
772 The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost— The Summit is not given
954 The Chemical conviction That Nought be lost Enable in Disaster My fractured Trust—
981 As Sleigh Bells seem in summer Or Bees, at Christmas show— So fairy—so fictitious The individuals do
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;
665 Dropped into the Ether Acre— Wearing the Sod Gown— Bonnet of Everlasting Laces— Brooch—frozen on—
733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—
239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!
