#AmericanWriters
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
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,
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,
799 Despair’s advantage is achieved By suffering—Despair— To be assisted of Reverse One must Reverse have bore—
273 He put the Belt around my life I heard the Buckle snap— And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up—
44 If she had been the Mistletoe And I had been the Rose— How gay upon your table My velvet life to close—
Elysium is as far as to The very nearest Room If in that Room a Friend await Felicity or Doom— What fortitude the Soul contains
‘They have not chosen me,’ he said… ‘But I have chosen them!’ Brave’—Broken hearted statement’— Uttered in Bethlehem! I could not have told it,
817 Given in Marriage unto Thee Oh thou Celestial Host— Bride of the Father and the Son Bride of the Holy Ghost.
285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
Ended, ere it begun - The Title was scarcely told When the Preface perished from Co… The Story, unrevealed - Had it been mine, to print!
401 What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush… Or violate a Star—
298 Alone, I cannot be— For Hosts—do visit me— Recordless Company— Who baffle Key—
