#AmericanWriters
52 Whether my bark went down at sea— Whether she met with gales— Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails—
432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
934 That is solemn we have ended Be it but a Play Or a Glee among the Garret Or a Holiday
486 I was the slightest in the House— I took the smallest Room— At night, my little Lamp, and Boo… And one Geranium—
516 Beauty—be not caused—It Is— Chase it, and it ceases— Chase it not, and it abides— Overtake the Creases
541 Some such Butterfly be seen On Brazilian Pampas— Just at noon—no later—Sweet— Then—the License closes—
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—
169 In Ebon Box, when years have flow… To reverently peer, Wiping away the velvet dust Summers have sprinkled there!
54 If I should die, And you should live— And time should gurgle on— And morn should beam—
895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me
801 I play at Riches’—to appease The Clamoring for Gold’— It kept me from a Thief, I think, For often, overbold
LV MY country need not change her go… Her triple suit as sweet As when ’t was cut at Lexington, And first pronounced “a fit.”
Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,
434 To love thee Year by Year— May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease— However, dear,