#AmericanWriters
7 The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go— The Crocus—til she rises The Vassal of the snow—
96 Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here… Pray lead me to his bed! I came to build the Bird’s nest, And sow the Early seed—
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
268 Me, change! Me, alter! Then I will, when on the Everlast… A Smaller Purple grows— At sunset, or a lesser glow
406 Some’—Work for Immortality’— The Chiefer part, for Time’— He’—Compensates’—immediately’— The former’—Checks’—on Fame’—
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,
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
60 Like her the Saints retire, In their Chapeaux of fire, Martial as she! Like her the Evenings steal
603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East
156 You love me—you are sure— I shall not fear mistake— I shall not cheated wake— Some grinning morn—
375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—
830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod
425 Good Morning’—Midnight’— I’m coming Home’— Day’—got tired of Me’— How could I’—of Him?
A Coffin’—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave’—is a restricted Breadth’…
I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way — And so I deck, a little, If it be, I wake a Bourbon,