#AmericanWriters
563 I could not prove the Years had f… Yet confident they run Am I, from symptoms that are past And Series that are done—
898 How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
586 We talked as Girls do— Fond, and late— We speculated fair, on every subje… Of ours, none affair—
286 That after Horror — that ’twas us… That passed the mouldering Pier — Just as the Granite Crumb let go… Our Savior, by a Hair —
529 I’m sorry for the Dead—Today— It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences— It’s time o’ year for Hay.
440 ’Tis customary as we part A trinket—to confer— It helps to stimulate the faith When Lovers be afar—
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep
20 Distrustful of the Gentian— And just to turn away, The fluttering of her fringes Child my perfidy—
416 A Murmur in the Trees—to note— Not loud enough—for Wind— A Star—not far enough to seek— Nor near enough—to find—
The reticent volcano keeps His never slumbering plan - Confided are his projects pink To no precarious man. If nature will not tell the tale
893 Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb— Or Dome of Worm— Or Porch of Gnome—