#AmericanWriters
’Twas comfort in her Dying Room To hear the living Clock— A short relief to have the wind Walk boldly up and knock— Diversion from the Dying Theme
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
981 As Sleigh Bells seem in summer Or Bees, at Christmas show— So fairy—so fictitious The individuals do
XLIX A POOR torn heart, a tattered he… That sat it down to rest, Nor noticed that the ebbing day Flowed silver to the west,
A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,
UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…
92 My friend must be a Bird’— Because it flies! Mortal, my friend must be, Because it dies!
63 If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise,
617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—
694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—
135 Water, is taught by thirst. Land—by the Oceans passed. Transport—by throe— Peace—by its battles told—
215 What is – “Paradise” – Who live there – Are they “Farmers” – Do they “hoe” –
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.
Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets,… Prodigal of blue, Spending scarlet like a woman,
157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—