#AmericanWriters
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—
780 The Truth—is stirless— Other force—may be presumed to mov… This—then—is best for confidence— When oldest Cedars swerve—
The nearest dream recedes, unreali… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school-boy Invites the race;
LV MY country need not change her go… Her triple suit as sweet As when ’t was cut at Lexington, And first pronounced “a fit.”
The only ghost I ever saw Was dressed in mechlin,—so; He wore no sandal on his foot, And stepped like flakes of snow. His gait was soundless, like the b…
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,
656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—
His Heart was darker than the sta… For that there is a morn But in this black Receptacle Can be no Bode of Dawn
29 If those I loved were lost The Crier’s voice would tell me— If those I loved were found The bells of Ghent would ring—
977 Besides this May We know There is Another— How fair
12 The morns are meeker than they wer… The nuts are getting brown— The berry’s cheek is plumper— The Rose is out of town.
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
XXVII BECAUSE I could not stop for D… He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Oursel… And Immortality.
