#AmericanWriters
954 The Chemical conviction That Nought be lost Enable in Disaster My fractured Trust—
773 Deprived of other Banquet, I entertained Myself— At first—a scant nutrition— An insufficient Loaf—
657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—
862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.
608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!
619 Glee—The great storm is over— Four—have recovered the Land— Forty gone down together— Into the boiling Sand.
825 An Hour is a Sea Between a few, and me— With them would Harbor be—
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
XXV Wild nights—Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury!
916 His Feet are shod with Gauze— His Helmet, is of Gold, His Breast, a Single Onyx With Chrysophrase, inlaid.
It struck me every day The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through. It burned me in the night,
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied
395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity
The Face we choose to miss - Be it but for a Day As absent as a Hundred Years, When it has rode away.