#AmericanWriters
818 I could not drink it, Sweet, Till You had tasted first, Though cooler than the Water was The Thoughtfullness of Thirst.
XXXVII LOVE is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.
447 Could—I do more—for Thee— Wert Thou a Bumble Bee— Since for the Queen, have I— Nought but Bouquet?
671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
XLIV THE show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be.
260 Read—Sweet—how others—strove— Till we—are stouter— What they—renounced— Till we—are less afraid—
544 The Martyr Poets’—did not tell’— But wrought their Pang in syllabl… That when their mortal name be num… Their mortal fate’—encourage Some…
134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil
627 The Tint I cannot take—is best— The Color too remote That I could show it in Bazaar— A Guinea at a sight—
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way — And so I deck, a little, If it be, I wake a Bourbon,
221 It can’t be “Summer”! That—got through! It’s early—yet—for “Spring”! There’s that long town of White—t…
300 ‘Morning’—means 'Milking’—to the… Dawn’—to the Teneriffe’— Dice’—to the Maid’— Morning means just Risk’—to the L…
311 It sifts from Leaden Sieves— It powders all the Wood. It fills with Alabaster Wool The Wrinkles of the Road—
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