#AmericanWriters
A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky— A little purple—slipped between—
807 Expectation—is Contentment— Gain—Satiety— But Satiety—Conviction Of Necessity
207 Tho’ I get home how late’—how lat… So I get home - 'twill compensate… Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me’—
SUCCESS is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host
976 Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. “Dissolve” says Death—The Spirit… I have another Trust”—
166 I met a King this afternoon! He had not on a Crown indeed, A little Palmleaf Hat was all, And he was barefoot, I’m afraid!
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.
506 He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast— It was a boundless place to me
348 I would not paint — a picture — I'd rather be the One It's bright impossibility To dwell — delicious — on —
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—
Who were “the Father and the Son” We pondered when a child, And what had they to do with us And when portentous told With inference appalling
730 Defrauded I a Butterfly— The lawful Heir—for Thee—