#AmericanWriters
106 The Daisy follows soft the Sun— And when his golden walk is done— Sits shyly at his feet— He—waking—finds the flower there—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—
191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!
So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go
God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me; I dare not eat it, though I starv… My poignant luxury To own it, touch it, prove the fea…
After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—
863 That Distance was between Us That is not of Mile or Main— The Will it is that situates— Equator—never can—
487 You love the Lord’—you cannot see… You write Him’—every day’— A little note’—when you awake’— And further in the Day.
If all the griefs I am to have Would only come today, I am so happy I believe They’d laugh and run away. If all the joys I am to have
599 There is a pain’—so utter’— It swallows substance up’— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
247 What would I give to see his face… I’d give—I’d give my life—of cour… But that is not enough! Stop just a minute—let me think!
298 Alone, I cannot be— For Hosts—do visit me— Recordless Company— Who baffle Key—
78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.