#AmericanWriters
663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—
541 Some such Butterfly be seen On Brazilian Pampas— Just at noon—no later—Sweet— Then—the License closes—
100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold
894 Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid— As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.
31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!
The earth has many keys, Where melody is not Is the unknown peninsula. Beauty is nature’s fact. But witness for her land,
411 The Color of the Grave is Green— The Outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Fi… Except it own a Stone—
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
371 A precious’—mouldering pleasure’—'… To meet an Antique Book’— In just the Dress his Century wor… A privilege’—I think’—
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
159 A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa…
977 Besides this May We know There is Another— How fair
30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
The nearest dream recedes, unreali… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school-boy Invites the race;