#AmericanWriters
994 Partake as doth the Bee, Abstemiously. The Rose is an Estate— In Sicily.
Of all the souls that stand create I have elected one. When sense from spirit files away, And subterfuge is done; When that which is and that which…
358 If any sink, assure that this, now… Failed like Themselves—and consci… Grew by the Fact, and not the Und… How Weakness passed—or Force—aros…
This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…
123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.
45 There’s something quieter than sle… Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name.
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
410 The first Day’s Night had come— And grateful that a thing So terrible—had been endured— I told my Soul to sing—
945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—
815 The Luxury to apprehend The Luxury 'twould be To look at Thee a single time An Epicure of Me
432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
628 They called me to the Window, for “ ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said— I only saw a Sapphire Farm— And just a Single Herd—
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,
625 ’Twas a long Parting—but the time For Interview—had Come— Before the Judgment Seat of God— The last—and second time
