#AmericanWriters
Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
332 There are two Ripenings—one—of si… Whose forces Spheric wind Until the Velvet product Drop spicy to the ground—
898 How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
99 New feet within my garden go— New fingers stir the sod— A Troubadour upon the Elm Betrays the solitude.
582 Inconceivably solemn! Things go gay Pierce—by the very Press Of Imagery—
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
892 Who occupies this House? A Stranger I must judge Since No one know His Circumstan… ’Tis well the name and age
This was a Poet —It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings — And Attar so immense From the familiar species
84 Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a “Diver”— Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest.
451 The Outer—from the Inner Derives its Magnitude— 'Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood—
‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us
915 Faith’—is the Pierless Bridge Supporting what We see Unto the Scene that We do not’— Too slender for the eye
731 “I want”—it pleaded—All its life— I want—was chief it said When Skill entreated it—the last— And when so newly dead—
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?