#AmericanWriters
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!
493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—
The Clover’s simple Fame Remembered of the Cow - Is better than enameled Realms Of notability. Renown perceives itself
848 Just as He spoke it from his Hand… This Edifice remain— A Turret more, a Turret less Dishonor his Design—
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony
It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
417 Is it dead—Find it— Out of sound—Out of sight— “Happy”? Which is wiser— You, or the Wind?
576 I prayed, at first, a little Girl… Because they told me to— But stopped, when qualified to gue… How prayer would feel—to me—
322 There came a Day at Summer’s full… Entirely for me— I thought that such were for the… Where Resurrections—be—
377 To lose one’s faith—surpass The loss of an Estate— Because Estates can be Replenished—faith cannot—
929 How far is it to Heaven? As far as Death this way— Of River or of Ridge beyond Was no discovery.
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
‘Faith’ is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see’— But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
