#AmericanWriters
The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes
Departed to the judgment, A mighty afternoon; Great clouds like ushers leaning, Creation looking on. The flesh surrendered, cancelled
I meant to find her when I came; Death had the same design; But the success was his, it seems, And the discomfit mine. I meant to tell her how I longed
523 Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered Every time—for Two— So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You—
76 Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, Past the houses—past the headlands… Into deep Eternity—
424 Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days— Myself had just to earn—
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
XXII I GAVE myself to him, And took himself for pay. The solemn contract of a life Was ratified this way.
111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—
226 Should you but fail at—Sea— In sight of me— Or doomed lie— Next Sun—to die—
175 I have never seen “Volcanoes”— But, when Travellers tell How those old—phlegmatic mountains Usually so still—
242 When we stand on the tops of Thin… And like the Trees, look down— The smoke all cleared away from it… And Mirrors on the scene—
XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.
730 Defrauded I a Butterfly— The lawful Heir—for Thee—
215 What is – “Paradise” – Who live there – Are they “Farmers” – Do they “hoe” –