#AmericanWriters
Those fair—fictitious People— The Women—plucked away From our familiar Lifetime— The Men of Ivory— Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—
122 A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon—
439 Undue Significance a starving man… To Food— Far off—He sighs—and therefore—Ho… And therefore—Good—
340 Is Bliss then, such Abyss, I must not put my foot amiss For fear I spoil my shoe? I’d rather suit my foot
144 She bore it till the simple veins Traced azure on her hand— Til pleading, round her quiet eyes The purple Crayons stand.
396 There is a Languor of the Life More imminent than Pain— ’Tis Pain’s Successor—When the S… Has suffered all it can—
194 On this long storm the Rainbow ro… On this late Morn—the Sun— The clouds—like listless Elephant… Horizons—straggled down—
There is another Loneliness That many die without - Not want of friend occasions it Or circumstances of Lot But nature, sometimes, sometimes t…
500 Within my Garden, rides a Bird Upon a single Wheel— Whose spokes a dizzy Music make As ’twere a travelling Mill—
173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!
8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables
Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,