#AmericanWriters
Apparently with no surprise, To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play, In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on.
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
562 Conjecturing a Climate Of unsuspended Suns— Adds poignancy to Winter— The Shivering Fancy turns
369 She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon—
Part One: Life LIV EXPERIMENT to me Is every one I meet. If it contain a kernel?
VII WITHIN my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village…
If I can stop one heart from brea… I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching… Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin
THE LARGEST fire ever known Occurs each afternoon, Discovered is without surprise, Proceeds without concern: Consumes, and no report to men,
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
516 Beauty—be not caused—It Is— Chase it, and it ceases— Chase it not, and it abides— Overtake the Creases
871 The Sun and Moon must make their… The Stars express around For in the Zones of Paradise The Lord alone is burned—
Good night! which put the candle o… A jealous zephyr, not a doubt. Ah! friend, you little knew How long at that celestial wick The angels labored diligent;
133 As Children bid the Guest “Good… And then reluctant turn— My flowers raise their pretty lips… Then put their nightgowns on.
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,