#AmericanWriters
588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—
425 Good Morning’—Midnight’— I’m coming Home’— Day’—got tired of Me’— How could I’—of Him?
601 A still—Volcano—Life— That flickered in the night— When it was dark enough to do Without erasing sight—
651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
846 Twice had Summer her fair Verdure Proffered to the Plain— Twice a Winter’s silver Fracture On the Rivers been—
To make a prairie it takes a clove… One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
799 Despair’s advantage is achieved By suffering—Despair— To be assisted of Reverse One must Reverse have bore—
96 Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here… Pray lead me to his bed! I came to build the Bird’s nest, And sow the Early seed—
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
Could Hope inspect her Basis Her Craft were done - Has a fictitious Charter Or it has none - Balked in the vastest instance
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,
444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—
Part One: Life LII VICTORY comes late, And is held low to freezing lips Too rapt with frost
283 A Mien to move a Queen— Half Child—Half Heroine— An Orleans in the Eye That puts its manner by