#AmericanWriters
314 Nature—sometimes sears a Sapling— Sometimes—scalps a Tree— Her Green People recollect it When they do not die—
681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—
A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa… Conscious—as old Napoleon,
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin,
736 Have any like Myself Investigating March, New Houses on the Hill descried— And possibly a Church—
LXVI WHEN I hoped I feared, Since I hoped I dared; Everywhere alone As a church remain;
Departed to the judgment, A mighty afternoon; Great clouds like ushers leaning, Creation looking on. The flesh surrendered, cancelled
61 Papa above! Regard a Mouse O’erpowered by the Cat! Reserve within thy kingdom
268 Me, change! Me, alter! Then I will, when on the Everlast… A Smaller Purple grows— At sunset, or a lesser glow
806 A Planted Life—diversified With Gold and Silver Pain To prove the presence of the Ore In Particles—'tis when
There comes a warning like a spy A shorter breath of Day A stealing that is not a stealth And Summers are away
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
904 Had I not This, or This, I said, Appealing to Myself, In moment of prosperity— Inadequate—were Life—
