#AmericanWriters
202 My Eye is fuller than my vase— Her Cargo—is of Dew— And still—my Heart—my Eye outweig… East India—for you!
752 So the Eyes accost—and sunder In an Audience— Stamped—occasionally—forever— So may Countenance
1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.
783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—
619 Glee—The great storm is over— Four—have recovered the Land— Forty gone down together— Into the boiling Sand.
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
978 It bloomed and dropt, a Single No… The Flower—distinct and Red— I, passing, thought another Noon Another in its stead
347 When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair—
809 Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity— Unable they that love—to die
405 It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness— I’m so accustomed to my Fate— Perhaps the Other—Peace—
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
523 Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered Every time—for Two— So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You—
123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.
VIII A wounded deer leaps highest, I ’ve heard the hunter tell; ’T is but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still.
660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—
