#AmericanWriters
955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
546 To fill a Gap Insert the Thing that caused it— Block it up With Other—and 'twill yawn the mo…
176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?
490 To One denied the drink To tell what Water is Would be acuter, would it not Than letting Him surmise?
894 Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid— As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end
I bet with every Wind that blew Till Nature in chagrin Employed a Fact to visit me And scuttle my Balloon -
60 Like her the Saints retire, In their Chapeaux of fire, Martial as she! Like her the Evenings steal
I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…
The Face we choose to miss - Be it but for a Day As absent as a Hundred Years, When it has rode away.
991 She sped as Petals of a Rose Offended by the Wind— A frail Aristocrat of Time Indemnity to find—