#AmericanWriters
237 I think just how my shape will ris… When I shall be “forgiven”— Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Hea… Are out of sight—in Heaven—
309 For largest Woman’s Hearth I kne… ’Tis little I can do— And yet the largest Woman’s Heart Could hold an Arrow—too—
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
824 [first version] The Wind begun to knead the Grass… As Women do a Dough— He flung a Hand full at the Plain…
154 Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels—lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—
Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
138 Pigmy seraphs—gone astray— Velvet people from Vevay— Balles from some lost summer day— Bees exclusive Coterie—
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
755 No Bobolink—reverse His Singing When the only Tree Ever He minded occupying By the Farmer be—
837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.
Let me not mar that perfect Dream By an Auroral stain But so adjust my daily Night That it will come again. Not when we know, the Power accos…
757 The Mountains—grow unnoticed— Their Purple figures rise Without attempt—Exhaustion— Assistance—or Applause—
XLVIII THOUGH I get home how late, how… So I get home, ’t will compensate… Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me,
376 Of Course—I prayed— And did God Care? He cared as much as on the Air A Bird—had stamped her foot—
