#AmericanWriters
535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—
379 Rehearsal to Ourselves Of a Withdrawn Delight— Affords a Bliss like Murder— Omnipotent—Acute—
752 So the Eyes accost’—and sunder In an Audience’— Stamped’—occasionally’—forever’— So may Countenance
404 How many Flowers fail in Wood— Or perish from the Hill— Without the privilege to know That they are Beautiful—
443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—
Revolution is the Pod Systems rattle from When the Winds of Will are stirre… Excellent is Bloom But except its Russet Base
86 South Winds jostle them— Bumblebees come— Hover—hesitate— Dri nk, and are gone—
519 ’Twas warm—at first—like Us— Until there crept upon A Chill—like frost upon a Glass— Till all the scene—be gone.
XXIV WHETHER my bark went down at se… Whether she met with gales, Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails;
893 Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb— Or Dome of Worm— Or Porch of Gnome—
So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go
83 Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home— As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune—
737 The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago— And now she turns Her perfect Fac… Upon the World below—
5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—
I SHOULD have been too glad, I… Too lifted for the scant degree Of life’s penurious round; My little circuit would have shame… This new circumference, have blame…