#AmericanWriters
Each life converges to some centre Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal, Admitted scarcely to itself, it ma…
351 I felt my life with both my hands To see if it was there— I held my spirit to the Glass, To prove it possibler—
899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance
642 Me from Myself — to banish — Had I Art — Impregnable my Fortress Unto All Heart —
The Sun kept setting—setting—stil… No Hue of Afternoon— Upon the Village I perceived From House to House ’twas Noon— The Dusk kept dropping—dropping—s…
Tell as a Marksman - were forgot… Tell - this Day endures Ruddy as that coeval Apple The Tradition bears - Fresh as Mankind that humble stor…
367 Over and over, like a Tune— The Recollection plays— Drums off the Phantom Battlements Cornets of Paradise—
III SOUL, wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost, indeed, But tens have won an all.
LIX I TOOK my power in my hand And went against the world; ’T was not so much as David had, But I was twice as bold.
92 My friend must be a Bird’— Because it flies! Mortal, my friend must be, Because it dies!
The Black Berry—wears a Thorn in… But no Man heard Him cry— He offers His Berry, just the sam… To Partridge—and to Boy— He sometimes holds upon the Fence…
35 Nobody knows this little Rose— It might a pilgrim be Did I not take it from the ways And lift it up to thee.
833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament
