#AmericanWriters
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
119 Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of “Potose,” and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines!
Part One: Life LIV EXPERIMENT to me Is every one I meet. If it contain a kernel?
573 The Test of Love—is Death— Our Lord—"so loved"—it saith— What Largest Lover—hath Another—doth—
678 Wolfe demanded during dying “Which obtain the Day”? “General, the British”—"Easy” Answered Wolfe “to die”
819 All I may, if small, Do it not display Larger for the Totalness— ’Tis Economy
The Savior must have been A docile Gentleman— To come so far so cold a Day For little Fellowmen— The Road to Bethlehem
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—
DEAR March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat— You must have walked—
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
It's thoughts—and just One Heart— And Old Sunshine—about— Make frugal—Ones—Content— And two or three—for Company— Upon a Holiday—
No rack can torture me, My soul’s at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one You cannot prick with saw,
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
843 I made slow Riches but my Gain Was steady as the Sun And every Night, it numbered more Than the preceding One
Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The Hour, and the Clime -