#AmericanWriters
221 It can’t be “Summer”! That—got through! It’s early—yet—for “Spring”! There’s that long town of White—t…
898 How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom
We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,
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—
XLVIII THOUGH I get home how late, how… So I get home, ’t will compensate… Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me,
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
The reticent volcano keeps His never slumbering plan - Confided are his projects pink To no precarious man. If nature will not tell the tale
858 This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life I mention it to you, When Sunrise through a fissure dr… The Day must follow too.
989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.
28 So has a Daisy vanished From the fields today— So tiptoed many a slipper To Paradise away—
676 Least Bee that brew— A Honey’s Weight Content Her smallest fraction hel… The Amber Quantity—
849 The good Will of a Flower The Man who would possess Must first present Certificate
173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;