#AmericanWriters
LXVII If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam,
844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,
947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?
301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?
185 “Faith” is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see— But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
A Death blow is a Life blow to S… Who till they died, did not alive… Who had they lived, had died but w… They died, Vitality begun.
477 No Man can compass a Despair— As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed—
765 You constituted Time— I deemed Eternity A Revelation of Yourself— ’Twas therefore Deity
975 The Mountain sat upon the Plain In his tremendous Chair— His observation omnifold, His inquest, everywhere—
719 A South Wind—has a pathos Of individual Voice— As One detect on Landings An Emigrant’s address.
876 It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone Enclosed ’twas not of Rail A Consciousness its Acre, and It held a Human Soul.
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?
193 I shall know why—when Time is ove… And I have ceased to wonder why— Christ will explain each separate… In the fair schoolroom of the sky—
354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—
117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.
