#AmericanWriters
130 These are the days when Birds com… A very few—a Bird or two— To take a backward look. These are the days when skies resu…
The Clover’s simple Fame Remembered of the Cow - Is better than enameled Realms Of notability. Renown perceives itself
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
1068 Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass.
852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.
Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity— The River reaches to my feet—
Oh Shadow on the Grass, Art thou a Step or not? Go make thee fair my Candidate My nominated Heart - Oh Shadow on the Grass
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
Between My Country—and the Other… There is a Sea— But Flowers—negotiate between us— As Ministry.
There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—