#AmericanWriters
LV MY country need not change her go… Her triple suit as sweet As when ’t was cut at Lexington, And first pronounced “a fit.”
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
41 I robbed the Woods— The trusting Woods. The unsuspecting Trees Brought out their Burs and mosses
239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!
851 When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face— When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race
854 Banish Air from Air— Divide Light if you dare— They’ll meet While Cubes in a Drop
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,
This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
286 That after Horror — that ’twas us… That passed the mouldering Pier — Just as the Granite Crumb let go… Our Savior, by a Hair —
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes— I wonder if It weighs like Mine— Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long—
96 Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here… Pray lead me to his bed! I came to build the Bird’s nest, And sow the Early seed—
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
322 There came a Day at Summer’s full… Entirely for me— I thought that such were for the… Where Resurrections—be—