#AmericanWriters
So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness
Ended, ere it begun - The Title was scarcely told When the Preface perished from Co… The Story, unrevealed - Had it been mine, to print!
XL I NEVER lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod; Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!
688 “Speech”—is a prank of Parliament… “Tears”—is a trick of the nerve— But the Heart with the heaviest f… Doesn't—always—move—
Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets,… Prodigal of blue, Spending scarlet like a woman,
Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -
163 Tho’ my destiny be Fustian— Hers be damask fine— Tho’ she wear a silver apron— I, a less divine—
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
No rack can torture me, My soul’s at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one You cannot prick with saw,
131 Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze—
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
548 Death is potential to that Man Who dies—and to his friend— Beyond that—unconspicuous To Anyone but God—
