#AmericanWriters
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
XII I CANNOT live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
Tie the strings to my life, my Lo… Then I am ready to go! Just a look at the horses— Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side,
886 These tested Our Horizon— Then disappeared As Birds before achieving A Latitude.
779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—
580 I gave myself to Him— And took Himself, for Pay, The solemn contract of a Life Was ratified, this way—
LXIII Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair.
859 A doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
571 Must be a Woe— A loss or so— To bend the eye Best Beauty’s way—
44 If she had been the Mistletoe And I had been the Rose— How gay upon your table My velvet life to close—
999 Superfluous were the Sun When Excellence be dead He were superfluous every Day For every Day be said
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
127 “Houses”—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!
