#AmericanWriters
108 Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit—Life!
947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?
57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,
831 Dying! To be afraid of thee One must to thine Artillery Have left exposed a Friend— Than thine old Arrow is a Shot
Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,
442 God made a little Gentian— It tried—to be a Rose— And failed—and all the Summer lau… But just before the Snows
711 Strong Draughts of Their Refresh… To drink—enables Mine Through Desert or the Wilderness As bore it Sealed Wine—
229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near
XII I ASKED no other thing, No other was denied. I offered Being for it; The mighty merchant smiled.
Me! Come! My dazzled face In such a shining place! Me! Hear! My foreign ear The sounds of welcome near! The saints shall meet
535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—
382 For Death—or rather For the Things 'twould buy— This—put away Life’s Opportunity—
443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—
773 Deprived of other Banquet, I entertained Myself— At first—a scant nutrition— An insufficient Loaf—
DEAR March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat— You must have walked—