#AmericanWriters
XXI HE ate and drank the precious wor… His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was dust.
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
369 She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon—
Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—
The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown In Chrysoprase Apartments hung This afternoon put on— How condescending to descend And be of Buttercups the friend
858 This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life I mention it to you, When Sunrise through a fissure dr… The Day must follow too.
144 She bore it till the simple veins Traced azure on her hand— Til pleading, round her quiet eyes The purple Crayons stand.
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.
866 Fame is the tine that Scholars le… Upon their Setting Names— The Iris not of Occident That disappears as comes—
THE LARGEST fire ever known Occurs each afternoon, Discovered is without surprise, Proceeds without concern: Consumes, and no report to men,