#AmericanWriters
694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—
862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.
XLIX WE outgrow love like other things And put it in the drawer, Till it an antique fashion shows Like costumes grandsires wore.
How fits his Umber Coat The Tailor of the Nut? Combined without a seam Like Raiment of a Dream - Who spun the Auburn Cloth?
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more. Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s p…
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
Air has no Residence, no Neighbor… No Ear, no Door, No Apprehension of Another Oh, Happy Air! Ethereal Guest at e’en an Outcast…
723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—
81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.
There comes a warning like a spy A shorter breath of Day A stealing that is not a stealth And Summers are away
900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness
854 Banish Air from Air— Divide Light if you dare— They’ll meet While Cubes in a Drop
668 “Nature” is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven—