#AmericanWriters
850 I sing to use the Waiting My Bonnet but to tie And shut the Door unto my House No more to do have I
XXIX THE nearest dream recedes, unreal… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school—boy
714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—
The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery
I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me. And frigates in the upper floor
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
682 ‘Twould ease—a Butterfly— Elate—a Bee— Thou’rt neither— Neither—thy capacity—
285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—
893 Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb— Or Dome of Worm— Or Porch of Gnome—
668 “Nature” is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven—
993 We miss Her, not because We see— The Absence of an Eye— Except its Mind accompany Abridge Society
888 When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House— And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place—
433 Knows how to forget! But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how
221 It can’t be “Summer”! That—got through! It’s early—yet—for “Spring”! There’s that long town of White—t…
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
