#AmericanWriters
623 It was too late for Man— But early, yet, for God— Creation—impotent to help— But Prayer—remained—Our Side—
789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty
5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—
657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—
923 How the Waters closed above Him We shall never know— How He stretched His Anguish to… That—is covered too—
I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet now I know how the heather lo… And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God,
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
21 We lose—because we win— Gamblers—recollecting which Toss their dice again!
354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—
198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.
384 No Rack can torture me— My Soul—at Liberty— Behind this mortal Bone There knits a bolder One—
My River runs to thee’— Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply’— Oh Sea’—look graciously’— I’ll fetch thee Brooks
They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…
Of all the souls that stand create I have elected one. When sense from spirit files away, And subterfuge is done; When that which is and that which…
Remembrance has a Rear and Front… ’Tis something like a House - It has a Garret also For Refuse and the Mouse. Besides the deepest Cellar