#AmericanWriters
348 I would not paint — a picture — I'd rather be the One It's bright impossibility To dwell — delicious — on —
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.
192 Poor little Heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little Heart!
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
595 Like Mighty Foot Lights’—burned… At Bases of the Trees’— The far Theatricals of Day Exhibiting’—to These’—
The Clover’s simple Fame Remembered of the Cow - Is better than enameled Realms Of notability. Renown perceives itself
Immured in Heaven! What a Cell! Let every Bondage be, Thou sweetest of the Universe, Like that which ravished thee!
My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper
531 We dream—it is good we are dreamin… It would hurt us—were we awake— But since it is playing—kill us, And we are playing—shriek—
I breathed enough to learn the tri… And now, removed from air, I simulate the breath so well, That one, to be quite sure The lungs are stirless, must desce…
657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—
Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,
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
Of Brussels—it was not— Of Kidderminster? Nay— The Winds did buy it of the Woods… They—sold it unto me It was a gentle price—