#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—
38 By such and such an offering To Mr. So and So, The web of live woven— So martyrs albums show!
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—
842 Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt! Better, to be found, If one care to, that is, The Fox fits the Hound—
262 The lonesome for they know not Wh… The Eastern Exiles—be— Who strayed beyond the Amber line Some madder Holiday—
405 It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness— I’m so accustomed to my Fate— Perhaps the Other—Peace—
I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
646 I think to Live—may be a Bliss To those who dare to try— Beyond my limit to conceive— My lip—to testify—
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
622 To know just how He suffered—woul… To know if any Human eyes were ne… To whom He could entrust His wave… Until it settle broad—on Paradise…
313 I should have been too glad, I se… Too lifted—for the scant degree Of Life’s penurious Round— My little Circuit would have sham…
I know a place where summer strive… With such a practised frost, She each year leads her daisies ba… Recording briefly, ‘Lost.’ But when the south wind stirs the…
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;
