Few, yet enough, (Emily Dickinson Poem)
Few, yet enough, Enough is One -- To that ethereal throng Have not each one of us the right To ...
Few, yet enough, Enough is One -- To that ethereal throng Have not each one of us the right To ...
Publication -- is the Auction Of the Mind of Man -- Poverty -- be justifying For so foul a thing ...
Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping -- plucking -- smiling -- flying -- Do ...
One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There's only one recorded, But both belong to ...
The man whose term we would remember as our longest, constant serving Head of State, besides the late Sir Robert ...
THE worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain In the field that is stored with its millions of slain ...
I sing the Name which None can say But touch't with An interiour Ray: The Name of our New Peace; ...
PART I On Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming! Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall, And roofless homes, a sad remembrance ...
What is Africa to me: Copper sun or scarlet sea, Jungle star or jungle track, Strong bronzed men, or regal ...
I see a woman any woman making up and change first she is thinking of something else (because when a ...
This is a day of happiness, sweet peace, And heavenly sunshine; upon which conven'd In full assembly fair, once more ...
My God! O let me call Thee mine! Weak wretched sinner though I be, My trembling soul would fain be ...
My God (oh, let me call Thee mine, Weak, wretched sinner though I be), My trembling soul would fain be ...
Mirrors are not more silent nor the creeping dawn more secretive; in the moonlight, you are that panther we catch ...
I reached up into the top of the closet and took out a pair of blue panties and showed them ...
I A washing hangs upon the line, but it's not mine. None of the things that I can see belong ...
We sighing said, "Our Pan is dead; His pipe hangs mute beside the river Around it wistful sunbeams quiver, But ...
As Parmigianino did it, the right hand Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer And swerving easily away, as ...
Glion?--Ah, twenty years, it cuts All meaning from a name! White houses prank where once were huts. Glion, but not ...
WHAT needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, How this new play an' that new sang is comin? Why ...
WITH secret throes I marked that earth, That cottage, witness of my birth; And near I saw, bold issuing forth ...
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