#AmericanWriters
233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!
There is another Loneliness That many die without - Not want of friend occasions it Or circumstances of Lot But nature, sometimes, sometimes t…
945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—
By homely gift and hindered Words The human heart is told Of Nothing - ‘Nothing’ is the force That renovates the World -
661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me
1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.
The wind tapped like a tired man, And like a host, ‘Come in,’ I boldly answered; entered then My residence within A rapid, footless guest,
781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—
545 ’Tis One by One—the Father count… And then a Tract between Set Cypherless—to teach the Eye The Value of its Ten—
900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness
586 We talked as Girls do— Fond, and late— We speculated fair, on every subje… Of ours, none affair—
106 The Daisy follows soft the Sun— And when his golden walk is done— Sits shyly at his feet— He—waking—finds the flower there—
838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine
957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—
They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the lune A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…