#AmericanWriters
417 Is it dead—Find it— Out of sound—Out of sight— “Happy”? Which is wiser— You, or the Wind?
How lonesome the Wind must feel N… When people have put out the Ligh… And everything that has an Inn Closes the shutter and goes in— How pompous the Wind must feel No…
Luck is not chance It’s Toil Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned The Father of the Mine
XIV I’M ceded, I ’ve stopped being th… The name they dropped upon my face With water, in the country church, Is finished using now,
94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?
914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude
401 What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush… Or violate a Star—
612 It would have starved a Gnat— To live so small as I— And yet I was a living Child— With Food’s necessity
On my volcano grows the Grass A meditative spot - An acre for a Bird to choose Would be the General thought - How red the Fire rocks below -
186 What shall I do—it whimpers so— This little Hound within the Hear… All day and night with bark and st… And yet, it will not go—
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
981 As Sleigh Bells seem in summer Or Bees, at Christmas show— So fairy—so fictitious The individuals do
He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till i… The Broad are too broad to define And of ‘Truth’ until it proclaime… The Truth never flaunted a Sign— Simplicity fled from his counterfe…
‘T was just this time last year I… I know I heard the corn, When I was carried by the farms,— It had the tassels on. I thought how yellow it would look
690 Victory comes late— And is held low to freezing lips— Too rapt with frost To take it—