#AmericanWriters
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?
839 Always Mine! No more Vacation! Term of Light this Day begun! Failless as the fair rotation
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
49 I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod. Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—
736 Have any like Myself Investigating March, New Houses on the Hill descried— And possibly a Church—
Air has no Residence, no Neighbor… No Ear, no Door, No Apprehension of Another Oh, Happy Air! Ethereal Guest at e’en an Outcast…
294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—
708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—
751 My Worthiness is all my Doubt— His Merit—all my fear— Contrasting which, my quality Do lowlier—appear—
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
456 So well that I can live without— I love thee—then How well is that… As well as Jesus? Prove it me