#AmericanWriters
86 South Winds jostle them— Bumblebees come— Hover—hesitate— Dri nk, and are gone—
192 Poor little Heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little Heart!
277 What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate— And pass escaped—to thee! What if I file this Mortal—off—
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
682 'Twould ease — a Butterfly — Elate — a Bee — Thou'rt neither — Neither — thy capacity —
XLI THE soul unto itself Is an imperial friend,— Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
GLEE! the great storm is over! Four have recovered the land; Forty gone down together Into the boiling sand. Ring, for the scant salvation!
I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
323 As if I asked a common Alms, And in my wondering hand A Stranger pressed a Kingdom, And I, bewildered, stand—
876 It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone Enclosed ’twas not of Rail A Consciousness its Acre, and It held a Human Soul.
I know a place where summer strive… With such a practised frost, She each year leads her daisies ba… Recording briefly, ‘Lost.’ But when the south wind stirs the…
‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us
671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,