#AmericanWriters
There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
649 Her Sweet turn to leave the Homes… Came the Darker Way— Carriages—Be Sure—and Guests—too… But for Holiday
673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…
843 I made slow Riches but my Gain Was steady as the Sun And every Night, it numbered more Than the preceding One
34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—
60 Like her the Saints retire, In their Chapeaux of fire, Martial as she! Like her the Evenings steal
814 One Day is there of the Series Termed Thanksgiving Day. Celebrated part at Table Part in Memory.
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
186 What shall I do—it whimpers so— This little Hound within the Hear… All day and night with bark and st… And yet, it will not go—
LXVI WHEN I hoped I feared, Since I hoped I dared; Everywhere alone As a church remain;
Your Riches—taught me—Poverty. Myself—a Millionaire In little Wealths, as Girls could… Till broad as Buenos Ayre— You drifted your Dominions—
367 Over and over, like a Tune— The Recollection plays— Drums off the Phantom Battlements Cornets of Paradise—
641 Size circumscribes—it has no room For petty furniture— The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture—
458 Like eyes that looked on Wastes— Incredulous of Ought But Blank—and steady Wilderness— Diversified by Night—
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”
