#AmericanWriters
601 A still—Volcano—Life— That flickered in the night— When it was dark enough to do Without erasing sight—
853 When One has given up One’s life The parting with the rest Feels easy, as when Day lets go Entirely the West
They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…
How Human Nature dotes On what it can’t detect. The moment that a Plot is plumbed Prospective is extinct - Prospective is the friend
861 Split the Lark—and you’ll find th… Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled… Scantilly dealt to the Summer Mor… Saved for your Ear when Lutes be…
138 Pigmy seraphs—gone astray— Velvet people from Vevay— Balles from some lost summer day— Bees exclusive Coterie—
870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”
384 No Rack can torture me— My Soul—at Liberty— Behind this mortal Bone There knits a bolder One—
The Hills erect their Purple Hea… The Rivers lean to see Yet Man has not of all the Throng A Curiosity.
631 Ourselves were wed one summer—dear… Your Vision—was in June— And when Your little Lifetime fai… I wearied—too—of mine—
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
137 Flowers—Well—if anybody Can the ecstasy define— Half a transport—half a trouble— With which flowers humble men:
451 The Outer—from the Inner Derives its Magnitude— ’Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood—
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
