#AmericanWriters
774 It is a lonesome Glee— Yet sanctifies the Mind— With fair association— Afar upon the Wind
58 Delayed till she had ceased to kno… Delayed till in its vest of snow Her loving bosom lay— An hour behind the fleeting breath…
The Face we choose to miss - Be it but for a Day As absent as a Hundred Years, When it has rode away.
958 We met as Sparks—Diverging Flint… Sent various—scattered ways— We parted as the Central Flint Were cloven with an Adze—
395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity
To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn’t hurt— It’s only fainter—by degrees— And then—it’s out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
1035 Bee! I’m expecting you! Was saying Yesterday To Somebody you know That you were due—
There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—
385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—
Water makes many Beds For those averse to sleep - Its awful chamber open stands - Its Curtains blandly sweep - Abhorrent is the Rest
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?