#AmericanWriters
596 When I was small, a Woman died— Today—her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac— His face all Victory
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
591 To interrupt His Yellow Plan The Sun does not allow Caprices of the Atmosphere— And even when the Snow
604 Unto my Books’—so good to turn’— Far ends of tired Days’— It half endears the Abstinence’— And Pain’—is missed’—in Praise’—
485 To make One’s Toilette—after Dea… Has made the Toilette cool Of only Taste we cared to please Is difficult, and still—
143 For every Bird a Nest— Wherefore in timid quest Some little Wren goes seeking rou… Wherefore when boughs are free—
792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
599 There is a pain’—so utter’— It swallows substance up’— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
454 It was given to me by the Gods— When I was a little Girl— They given us Presents most—you k… When we are new—and small.
Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -
844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,
874 They won’t frown always—some sweet… When I forget to tease— They’ll recollect how cold I look… And how I just said “Please.”
513 Like Flowers, that heard the news… But never deemed the dripping priz… Awaited their—low Brows— Or Bees—that thought the Summer’s…
939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—