#AmericanWriters
12 The morns are meeker than they wer… The nuts are getting brown— The berry’s cheek is plumper— The Rose is out of town.
XXXIII DARE you see a soul at the white… Then crouch within the door. Red is the fire’s common tint; But when the vivid ore
815 The Luxury to apprehend The Luxury 'twould be To look at Thee a single time An Epicure of Me
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me Had I but further scanned
669 No Romance sold unto Could so enthrall a Man As the perusal of His Individual One—
617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—
How fits his Umber Coat The Tailor of the Nut? Combined without a seam Like Raiment of a Dream - Who spun the Auburn Cloth?
928 The Heart has narrow Banks It measures like the Sea In mighty—unremitting Bass And Blue Monotony
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
388 Take your Heaven further on— This—to Heaven divine Has gone— Had You earlier blundered in Possibly, e’en You had seen
I started Early– Took my Dog – And visited the Sea - The Mermaids in the Basement Came out to look at me - And Frigates - in the Upper Floo…
901 Sweet, to have had them lost For news that they be saved— The nearer they departed Us The nearer they, restored,
253 You see I cannot see—your lifetim… I must guess— How many times it ache for me—toda… How many times for my far sake
601 A still—Volcano—Life— That flickered in the night— When it was dark enough to do Without erasing sight—
679 Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend— He doth not attest by Posture— Nor Confirm—by Word—