#AmericanWriters
152 The Sun kept stooping—stooping—lo… The Hills to meet him rose! On his side, what Transaction! On their side, what Repose!
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
The Black Berry—wears a Thorn in… But no Man heard Him cry— He offers His Berry, just the sam… To Partridge—and to Boy— He sometimes holds upon the Fence…
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
500 Within my Garden, rides a Bird Upon a single Wheel— Whose spokes a dizzy Music make As ’twere a travelling Mill—
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
LXV GOOD night! which put the candle… A jealous zephyr, not a doubt. Ah! friend, you little knew How long at that celestial wick
878 The Sun is gay or stark According to our Deed. If Merry, He is merrier— If eager for the Dead
774 It is a lonesome Glee— Yet sanctifies the Mind— With fair association— Afar upon the Wind
42 A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by! From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory!
Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.
Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,
734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid—