#AmericanWriters
’T IS so much joy! ’T is so much… If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I Have ventured all upon a throw; Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so
CXXXVI I STEPPED from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea.
The only ghost I ever saw Was dressed in mechlin,—so; He wore no sandal on his foot, And stepped like flakes of snow. His gait was soundless, like the b…
803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—
942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee
904 Had I not This, or This, I said, Appealing to Myself, In moment of prosperity— Inadequate—were Life—
50 I haven’t told my garden yet— Lest that should conquer me. I haven’t quite the strength now To break it to the Bee—
992 The Dust behind I strove to join Unto the Disk before— But Sequence ravelled out of Soun… Like Balls upon a Floor—
Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,
114 Good night, because we must, How intricate the dust! I would go, to know! Oh incognito!
241 I like a look of Agony, Because I know it’s true— Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate, a Throe—
The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes
136 Have you got a Brook in your litt… Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drin… And shadows tremble so—
348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—