#AmericanWriters
159 A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa…
370 Heaven is so far of the Mind That were the Mind dissolved— The Site—of it—by Architect Could not again be proved—
146 On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair—
THE BAT is dun with wrinkled wi… Like fallow article, And not a song pervades his lips, Or none perceptible. His small umbrella, quaintly halve…
‘Faith’ is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see’— But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
936 This Dust, and its Feature— Accredited—Today—Will in a s… Cease to identify— This Mind, and its measure—
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
130 These are the days when Birds com… A very few—a Bird or two— To take a backward look. These are the days when skies resu…
534 We see—Comparatively— The Thing so towering high We could not grasp its segment Unaided—Yesterday—
241 I like a look of Agony, Because I know it’s true— Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate, a Throe—
224 I've nothing else—to bring, You k… So I keep bringing These— Just as the Night keeps fetching… To our familiar eyes—
242 When we stand on the tops of Thin… And like the Trees, look down— The smoke all cleared away from it… And Mirrors on the scene—
260 Read—Sweet—how others—strove— Till we—are stouter— What they—renounced— Till we—are less afraid—
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.