#AmericanWriters
Those fair—fictitious People— The Women—plucked away From our familiar Lifetime— The Men of Ivory— Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—
The day came slow, till five o’clo… Then sprang before the hills, Like hindered rubies, or the light… A sudden musket spills. The purple could not keep the east…
814 One Day is there of the Series Termed Thanksgiving Day. Celebrated part at Table Part in Memory.
The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied
845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!
989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.
My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun— In Corners—till a Day The Owner passed—identified— And carried Me away— And now We roam in Sovereign Woo…
927 Absent Place—an April Day— Daffodils a-blow Homesick curiosity To the Souls that snow—
277 What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate— And pass escaped—to thee! What if I file this Mortal—off—
191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!
Air has no Residence, no Neighbor… No Ear, no Door, No Apprehension of Another Oh, Happy Air! Ethereal Guest at e’en an Outcast…
305 The difference between Despair And Fear—is like the One Between the instant of a Wreck And when the Wreck has been—
355 ’Tis Opposites—entice— Deformed Men—ponder Grace— Bright fires—the Blanketless— The Lost—Day’s face—
888 When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House— And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place—
928 The Heart has narrow Banks It measures like the Sea In mighty—unremitting Bass And Blue Monotony