#AmericanWriters
663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
109 By a flower—By a letter— By a nimble love— If I weld the Rivet faster— Final fast—above—
A Word dropped careless on a Page May stimulate an eye When folded in perpetual seam The Wrinkled Maker lie Infection in the sentence breeds
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
A chilly Peace infests the Grass The Sun respectful lies - Not any Trance of industry These shadows scrutinize - Whose Allies go no more astray
Are Friends Delight or Pain? Could Bounty but remain Riches were good - But if they only stay Ampler to fly away
402 I pay—in Satin Cash— You did not state—your price— A Petal, for a Paragraph It near as I can guess—
842 Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt! Better, to be found, If one care to, that is, The Fox fits the Hound—
685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
1100 The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different
556 The Brain, within its Groove Runs evenly—and true— But let a Splinter swerve— ’Twere easier for You—
942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee
895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me
139 Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost indeed— But tens have won an all—
34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—