My Maker - let me be Enamored most of thee - But nearer this I more should miss. Emily Dickinson
Musicians wrestle everywhere - All day - among the crowded air I hear the silver strife - And - waking - long before the morn - Such transport breaks upon the town I think it that "New life"...
No Notice gave She, but a Change - No Message, but a Sigh - For Whom, the Time did not suffice That She should specify. She was not warm, though Summer shone Nor scrupulous of cold Though Rime by Rime...
Within my Garden, rides a Bird Upon a single Wheel - Whose spokes a dizzy Music make As 'twere a travelling Mill - He never stops, but slackens Above the Ripest Rose - Partakes without alighting And p...