#AmericanWriters
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
Death leaves Us homesick, who beh… Except that it is gone Are ignorant of its Concern As if it were not born. Through all their former Places,…
819 All I may, if small, Do it not display Larger for the Totalness— ’Tis Economy
612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity
97 The rainbow never tells me That gust and storm are by, Yet is she more convincing Than Philosophy.
Part One: Life XXXV I CAN wade grief, Whole pools of it,— I ’m used to that.
XX ARCTURUS is his other name,— I ’d rather call him star! It ’s so unkind of science To go and interfere!
91 So bashful when I spied her! So pretty—so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find—
Apparently with no surprise, To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play, In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on.
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—
155 The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft—yieldeth me— If any ask me why— ’Twere easier to die—
886 These tested Our Horizon— Then disappeared As Birds before achieving A Latitude.
It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,