#AmericanWriters
296 One Year ago’—jots what? God’—spell the word! I’—can’t’— Was’t Grace? Not that’— Was’t Glory? That’—will do’—
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes— I wonder if It weighs like Mine— Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long—
Going to him! Happy letter! Tell… Tell him the page I didn’t write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun… Tell him just how the fingers hurr…
252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy
XLIII I LIKE to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step
134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil
74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!
176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—
I DIED for beauty, but was scarc… Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…
593 I think I was enchanted When first a sombre Girl— I read that Foreign Lady— The Dark—felt beautiful—
663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
Perhaps I asked too large— I take—no less than skies— For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town— My Basked holds—just—Firmaments—
979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—
718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—