#AmericanWriters
825 An Hour is a Sea Between a few, and me— With them would Harbor be—
165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!
466 ’Tis little I—could care for Pear… Who own the ample sea— Or Brooches—when the Emperor— With Rubies—pelteth me—
552 An ignorance a Sunset Confer upon the Eye— Of Territory—Color— Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.
This quiet dust was gentlemen and… And lads and girls; Was laughter and ability and sighi… And frocks and curls; This passive place a summer’s nimb…
541 Some such Butterfly be seen On Brazilian Pampas— Just at noon—no later—Sweet— Then—the License closes—
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
426 It don't sound so terrible—quite—a… I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "De… Put it in Latin—left of my school… Seems it don't shriek so—under rul…
Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
898 How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom
107 ’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away!
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee
261 Put up my lute! What of—my Music! Since the sole ear I cared to cha… Passive—as Granite—laps My Music…
