#AmericanWriters
576 I prayed, at first, a little Girl… Because they told me to— But stopped, when qualified to gue… How prayer would feel—to me—
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
901 Sweet, to have had them lost For news that they be saved— The nearer they departed Us The nearer they, restored,
606 The Trees like Tassels—hit—and sw… There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying the Sun—
291 How the old Mountains drip with S… How the Hemlocks burn— How the Dun Brake is draped in C… By the Wizard Sun—
476 I meant to have but modest needs— Such as Content—and Heaven— Within my income—these could lie And Life and I—keep even—
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
818 I could not drink it, Sweet, Till You had tasted first, Though cooler than the Water was The Thoughtfullness of Thirst.
668 “Nature” is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven—
A Coffin—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave—is a restricted Breadth—
451 The Outer—from the Inner Derives its Magnitude— 'Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood—
705 Suspense—is Hostiler than Death— Death—tho’soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increas… Suspense—does not conclude –
471 A Night—there lay the Days betwee… The Day that was Before— And Day that was Behind—were one— And now—'twas Night—was here—
285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—