#AmericanWriters
348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—
482 We Cover Thee—Sweet Face— Not that We tire of Thee— But that Thyself fatigue of Us— Remember—as Thou go—
292 If your Nerve, deny you— Go above your Nerve— He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve—
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
598 Three times—we parted—Breath—and… Three times—He would not go— But strove to stir the lifeless F… The Waters—strove to stay.
22 All these my banners be. I sow my pageantry In May— It rises train by train—
252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—
To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn't hurt— It's only fainter—by degrees— And then—it's out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!
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,
XL I NEVER lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod; Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!
354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—
XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
555 Trust in the Unexpected— By this—was William Kidd Persuaded of the Buried Gold— As One had testified—