#AmericanWriters
XXII I GAVE myself to him, And took himself for pay. The solemn contract of a life Was ratified this way.
876 It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone Enclosed ’twas not of Rail A Consciousness its Acre, and It held a Human Soul.
983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.
522 Had I presumed to hope— The loss had been to Me A Value—for the Greatness’ Sake— As Giants—gone away—
Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,
All men for Honor hardest work But are not known to earn - Paid after they have ceased to wor… In Infamy or Urn -
The inundation of the Spring Enlarges every soul - It sweeps the tenement away But leaves the Water whole - In which the soul at first estrang…
Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance
624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—
LXVII If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam,
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes— I wonder if It weighs like Mine— Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long—
616 I rose—because He sank— I thought it would be opposite— But when his power dropped— My Soul grew straight.
570 I could die—to know— ’Tis a trifling knowledge— News-Boys salute the Door— Carts—joggle by—
There is no Silence in the Earth… As that endured Which uttered, would discourage N… And haunt the World.
65 I can’t tell you—but you feel it— Nor can you tell me— Saints, with ravished slate and pe… Solve our April Day!
