#AmericanWriters
380 There is a flower that Bees prefe… And Butterflies—desire— To gain the Purple Democrat The Humming Bird—aspire—
132 I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching Next to mine, And summon them to drink;
266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By strech of limb or stir of lid,— An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?
Presentiment is that long shadow o… Indicative that suns go down; The notice to the startled grass That darkness is about to pass.
XLIV THE show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be.
445 ’Twas just this time, last year,… I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms— It had the Tassels on—
A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs— Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
After great pain a formal feeling… The nerves sit ceremonious like to… The stiff Heart questions—was it… And yesterday—or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round
XXXIII DARE you see a soul at the white… Then crouch within the door. Red is the fire’s common tint; But when the vivid ore
871 The Sun and Moon must make their… The Stars express around For in the Zones of Paradise The Lord alone is burned—
353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—
668 “Nature” is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven—
707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—