#AmericanWriters
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
Whose Pink career may have a clos… Portentous as our own, who knows? To imitate these Neighbors fleet In awe and innocence, were meet.
218 Is it true, dear Sue? Are there two? I shouldn’t like to come For fear of joggling Him!
XIV SOME things that fly there be,— Birds, hours, the bumble-bee: Of these no elegy. Some things that stay there be,—
286 That after Horror — that ’twas us… That passed the mouldering Pier — Just as the Granite Crumb let go… Our Savior, by a Hair —
8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables
1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.
How Human Nature dotes On what it can’t detect. The moment that a Plot is plumbed Prospective is extinct - Prospective is the friend
793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—
568 We learned the Whole of Love— The Alphabet—the Words— A Chapter—then the mighty Book— Then—Revelation closed—
63 If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise,
757 The Mountains—grow unnoticed— Their Purple figures rise Without attempt—Exhaustion— Assistance—or Applause—