#AmericanWriters
We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,
461 A Wife—at daybreak I shall be— Sunrise—Hast thou a Flag for me? At Midnight, I am but a Maid, How short it takes to make a Brid…
887 We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer— Till it an Antique fashion shows— Like Costumes Grandsires wore.
503 Better—than Music! For I—who hea… I was used—to the Birds—before— This—was different—’Twas Translat… Of all tunes I knew—and more—
933 Two Travellers perishing in Snow The Forests as they froze Together heard them strengthening Each other with the words
XLVII HEART, we will forget him! You and I, to—night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.
942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee
366 Although I put away his life— An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear… This might have been the Hand
XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.
835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.
729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—
83 Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home— As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune—
641 Size circumscribes—it has no room For petty furniture— The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture—
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird