#AmericanWriters
493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?
9 Through lane it lay—through brambl… Through clearing and through wood— Banditti often passed us Upon the lonely road.
74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
I noticed People disappeared When but a little child - Supposed they visited remote Or settled Regions wild - But did because they died
853 When One has given up One’s life The parting with the rest Feels easy, as when Day lets go Entirely the West
734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid—
35 Nobody knows this little Rose— It might a pilgrim be Did I not take it from the ways And lift it up to thee.
960 As plan for Noon and plan for Nig… So differ Life and Death In positive Prospective— The Foot upon the Earth
799 Despair’s advantage is achieved By suffering—Despair— To be assisted of Reverse One must Reverse have bore—
949 Under the Light, yet under, Under the Grass and the Dirt, Under the Beetle’s Cellar Under the Clover’s Root,
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—
582 Inconceivably solemn! Things go gay Pierce—by the very Press Of Imagery—
