#AmericanWriters
531 We dream—it is good we are dreamin… It would hurt us—were we awake— But since it is playing—kill us, And we are playing—shriek—
1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.
567 He gave away his Life— To Us—Gigantic Sum— A trifle—in his own esteem— But magnified—by Fame—
A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun! Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass…
844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,
91 So bashful when I spied her! So pretty—so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find—
127 “Houses”—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!
My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun— In Corners—till a Day The Owner passed—identified— And carried Me away— And now We roam in Sovereign Woo…
514 Her smile was shaped like other sm… The Dimples ran along— And still it hurt you, as some Bi… Did hoist herself, to sing,
758 These’—saw Visions’— Latch them softly’— These’—held Dimples’— Smooth them slow’—
It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -
718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
426 It don't sound so terrible—quite—a… I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "De… Put it in Latin—left of my school… Seems it don't shriek so—under rul…
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;