#AmericanWriters
I had been hungry all the years– My noon had come, to dine– I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. ‘T was this on tables I had seen
I bet with every Wind that blew Till Nature in chagrin Employed a Fact to visit me And scuttle my Balloon -
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”
185 “Faith” is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see— But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
991 She sped as Petals of a Rose Offended by the Wind— A frail Aristocrat of Time Indemnity to find—
366 Although I put away his life— An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear… This might have been the Hand
45 There’s something quieter than sle… Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name.
132 I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching Next to mine, And summon them to drink;
956 What shall I do when the Summer t… What, when the Rose is ripe— What when the Eggs fly off in Mus… From the Maple Keep?
23 I had a guinea golden— I lost it in the sand— And tho’ the sum was simple And pounds were in the land—
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
824 [first version] The Wind begun to knead the Grass… As Women do a Dough— He flung a Hand full at the Plain…
31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!
306 The Soul’s Superior instants Occur to Her—alone— When friend—and Earth’s occasion Have infinite withdrawn—