#AmericanWriters
995 This was in the White of the Year… That—was in the Green— Drifts were as difficult then to t… As Daisies now to be seen—
XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
903 I hide myself within my flower, That fading from your Vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me— Almost a loneliness.
425 Good Morning’—Midnight’— I’m coming Home’— Day’—got tired of Me’— How could I’—of Him?
462 Why make it doubt — it hurts it so… So sick — to guess — So strong — to know — So brave — upon its little Bed
27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.
852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.
843 I made slow Riches but my Gain Was steady as the Sun And every Night, it numbered more Than the preceding One
475 Doom is the House without the Doo… ’Tis entered from the Sun— And then the Ladder’s thrown away… Because Escape—is done—
451 The Outer—from the Inner Derives its Magnitude— ’Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood—
140 An altered look about the hills— A Tyrian light the village fills— A wider sunrise in the morn— A deeper twilight on the lawn—
87 A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…
204 I’ll tell you how the Sun rose— A Ribbon at a time— The Steeples swam in Amethyst— The news, like Squirrels, ran—