#AmericanWriters
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
1068 Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass.
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
295 Unto like Story—Trouble has entic… How Kinsmen fell— Brothers and Sister—who preferred… And their young will
A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa… Conscious—as old Napoleon,
805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
482 We Cover Thee—Sweet Face— Not that We tire of Thee— But that Thyself fatigue of Us— Remember—as Thou go—
GLEE! the great storm is over! Four have recovered the land; Forty gone down together Into the boiling sand. Ring, for the scant salvation!
410 The first Day’s Night had come— And grateful that a thing So terrible—had been endured— I told my Soul to sing—
442 God made a little Gentian— It tried—to be a Rose— And failed—and all the Summer lau… But just before the Snows
128 Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, Tell me how far the morning leaps—
I see thee better—in the Dark— I do not need a Light— The Love of Thee—a Prism be— Excelling Violet— I see thee better for the Years
481 The Himmaleh was known to stoop Unto the Daisy low— Transported with Compassion That such a Doll should grow
243 I’ve known a Heaven, like a Tent— To wrap its shining Yards— Pluck up its stakes, and disappear… Without the sound of Boards