#AmericanWriters
486 I was the slightest in the House— I took the smallest Room— At night, my little Lamp, and Boo… And one Geranium—
LXVII If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam,
A little Dog that wags his tail And knows no other joy Of such a little Dog am I Reminded by a Boy Who gambols all the living Day
1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?
268 Me, change! Me, alter! Then I will, when on the Everlast… A Smaller Purple grows— At sunset, or a lesser glow
They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…
189 It’s such a little thing to weep— So short a thing to sigh— And yet—by Trades—the size of the… We men and women die!
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
They say that ‘time assuages,’— Time never did assuage; An actual suffering strengthens, As sinews do, with age. Time is a test of trouble,
806 A Planted Life—diversified With Gold and Silver Pain To prove the presence of the Ore In Particles—'tis when
UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…
120 If this is “fading” Oh let me immediately “fade”! If this is “dying” Bury me, in such a shroud of red!
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.