#AmericanWriters
It dropped so low in my regard I heard it hit the ground, And go to pieces on the stones At bottom of my mind; Yet blamed the fate that fractured…
87 A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
517 He parts Himself’—like Leaves’— And then’—He closes up’— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup’—
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
A Counterfeit– a Plated Person… I would not be - Whatever strata of Iniquity My Nature underlie - Truth is good Health - and Safet…
549 That I did always love I bring thee Proof That till I loved I never lived—Enough—
It dropped so low—in my Regard— I heard it hit the Ground— And go to pieces on the Stones At bottom of my Mind— Yet blamed the Fate that flung it…
733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—
376 Of Course—I prayed— And did God Care? He cared as much as on the Air A Bird—had stamped her foot—
698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—
Nature rarer uses Yellow Than another Hue. Saves she all of that for Sunsets Prodigal of Blue Spending Scarlet, like a Woman
636 The Way I read a Letter’s—this— ’Tis first—I lock the Door— And push it with my fingers—next— For transport it be sure—
50 I haven’t told my garden yet— Lest that should conquer me. I haven’t quite the strength now To break it to the Bee—
925 Struck, was I, not yet by Lightni… Lightning—lets away Power to perceive His Process With Vitality.
833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament