#AmericanWriters
472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—
XIV SOME things that fly there be,— Birds, hours, the bumble-bee: Of these no elegy. Some things that stay there be,—
617 Don’t put up my Thread and Needle… I’ll begin to Sew When the Birds begin to whistle— Better Stitches—so—
50 I haven’t told my garden yet— Lest that should conquer me. I haven’t quite the strength now To break it to the Bee—
I counted till they danced so Their slippers leaped the town, And then I took a pencil To note the rebels down. And then they grew so jolly
FORBIDDEN fruit a flavor has That lawful orchards mocks; How luscious lies the pea within The pod that Duty locks!
A Wind that rose Though not a Leaf In any Forest stirred But with itself did cold engage Beyond the Realm of Bird -
The Clover’s simple Fame Remembered of the Cow - Is better than enameled Realms Of notability. Renown perceives itself
292 If your Nerve, deny you— Go above your Nerve— He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve—
XVI TO fight aloud is very brave, But gallanter, I know, Who charge within the bosom, The cavalry of woe.
853 When One has given up One’s life The parting with the rest Feels easy, as when Day lets go Entirely the West
733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
10 My wheel is in the dark! I cannot see a spoke Yet know its dripping feet Go round and round.
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
