#AmericanWriters
778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—
951 As Frost is best conceived By force of its Result— Affliction is inferred By subsequent effect—
The Notice that is called the Spr… Is but a month from here - Put up my Heart thy Hoary work And take a Rosy Chair. Not any House the Flowers keep -
141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.
His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…
All men for Honor hardest work But are not known to earn - Paid after they have ceased to wor… In Infamy or Urn -
XXI HE ate and drank the precious wor… His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was dust.
497 He strained my faith— Did he find it supple? Shook my strong trust— Did it then—yield?
Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.
971 Robbed by Death—but that was easy… To the failing Eye I could hold the latest Glowing— Robbed by Liberty
558 But little Carmine hath her face— Of Emerald scant—her Gown— Her Beauty—is the love she doth— Itself—exhibit—Mine&md ash;
114 Good night, because we must, How intricate the dust! I would go, to know! Oh incognito!
648 Promise This—When You be Dying— Some shall summon Me— Mine belong Your latest Sighing— Mine—to Belt Your Eye—
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
298 Alone, I cannot be— For Hosts—do visit me— Recordless Company— Who baffle Key—
