Saturday, November 21, 2009
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2009
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November
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- Bloom — is Result — to meet a Flower
- Tie the strings to my Life, My Lord,
- Gratitude — is not the mention
- The Soul has Bandaged moments —
- Had I not This, or This, I said,
- Reportless Subjects, to the Quick
- I've none to tell me to but Thee
- Our journey had advanced —
- My Season's furthest Flower —
- On the World you colored
- We grow accustomed to the Dark —
- I took my Power in my Hand —
- Conjecturing a Climate
- The Birds begun at Four o'clock —
- I felt my life with both my hands
- It tossed — and tossed —
- Because He loves Her
- A Prison gets to be a friend —
- Nature — the Gentlest Mother is,
- Volcanoes be in Sicily
- Four Trees — opon a solitary Acre —
- You taught me Waiting with Myself —
- Revolution is the Pod
- Quite empty, quite at rest,
- Pigmy seraphs — gone astray —
- Not at Home to Callers
- Me, change! Me, alter!
- Kill your Balm — and it's Odors bless you —
- How soft this Prison is
- I tie my Hat — I crease my Shawl —
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November
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