#AmericanWriters
364 The Morning after Woe— ’Tis frequently the Way— Surpasses all that rose before— For utter Jubilee—
Luck is not chance It’s Toil Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned The Father of the Mine
394 ’Twas Love’—not me’— Oh punish’—pray’— The Real one died for Thee’— Just Him’—not me’—
I taste a liquor never brewed, From tankards scooped in pearl; Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol! Inebriate of air am I,
Declaiming Waters none may dread… But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature– they are full –
There cam a Wind like a Bugle - It quivered through the Grass And a Green Chill upon the Heat So ominous did pass We barred the Windows and the Doo…
It sounded as if the Streets were… And then– the Streets stood stil… Eclipse - was all we could see at… And Awe - was all we could feel. By and by - the boldest stole out…
657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—
LXXXIII This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond — Invisible, as Music — But positive, as Sound —
This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed
To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise
126 To fight aloud, is very brave— But gallanter, I know Who charge within the bosom The Cavalry of Woe—
873 Ribbons of the Year— Multitude Brocade— Worn to Nature’s Party once Then, as flung aside
571 Must be a Woe— A loss or so— To bend the eye Best Beauty’s way—
How firm Eternity must look To crumbling men like me The only Adamant Estate In all Identity - How mighty to the insecure
