#AmericanWriters
423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
15 The Guest is gold and crimson— An Opal guest and gray— Of Ermine is his doublet— His Capuchin gay—
A still – Volcano – Life – That flickered in the night – When it was dark enough to do Without erasing sight – A quiet – Earthquake Style –
356 The Day that I was crowned Was like the other Days— Until the Coronation came— And then—'twas Otherwise—
784 Bereaved of all, I went abroad— No less bereaved was I Upon a New Peninsula— The Grave preceded me—
155 The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft—yieldeth me— If any ask me why— ’Twere easier to die—
151 Mute thy Coronation— Meek my Vive le roi, Fold a tiny courtier In thine Ermine, Sir,
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
103 I have a King, who does not speak… So—wondering—thro’ the hours meek I trudge the day away— Half glad when it is night, and sl…
To make a prairie it takes a clove… One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
Part One: Life LIV EXPERIMENT to me Is every one I meet. If it contain a kernel?