#AmericanWriters
8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables
The Snow that never drifts - The transient, fragrant snow That comes a single time a Year Is softly driving now - So thorough in the Tree
873 Ribbons of the Year— Multitude Brocade— Worn to Nature’s Party once Then, as flung aside
224 I've nothing else—to bring, You k… So I keep bringing These— Just as the Night keeps fetching… To our familiar eyes—
A door just opened on a street— I, lost, was passing by— An instant’s width of warmth discl… And wealth, and company. The door as sudden shut, and I,
139 Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost indeed— But tens have won an all—
660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—
289 I know some lonely Houses off the… A Robber’d like the look of— Wooden barred, And Windows hanging low,
LXI EACH life converges to some cent… Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal,
942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee
557 She hideth Her the last— And is the first, to rise— Her Night doth hardly recompense The Closing of Her eyes—
363 I went to thank Her— But She Slept— Her Bed—a funneled Stone— With Nosegays at the Head and Fo…
488 Myself was formed’—a Carpenter’— An unpretending time My Plane’—and I, together wrought Before a Builder came’—
56 If I should cease to bring a Rose Upon a festal day, ‘Twill be because beyond the Rose I have been called away—
159 A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa…