#AmericanWriters
466 ’Tis little I—could care for Pear… Who own the ample sea— Or Brooches—when the Emperor— With Rubies—pelteth me—
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—
A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun! Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass…
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!
256 If I’m lost—now That I was found— Shall still my transport be— That once—on me—those Jasper Gate…
731 “I want”—it pleaded—All its life— I want—was chief it said When Skill entreated it—the last— And when so newly dead—
148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.
108 Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit—Life!
112 Where bells no more affright the m… Where scrabble never comes— Where very nimble Gentlemen Are forced to keep their rooms—
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
978 It bloomed and dropt, a Single No… The Flower—distinct and Red— I, passing, thought another Noon Another in its stead
596 When I was small, a Woman died— Today—her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac— His face all Victory
Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion