#AmericanWriters
373 I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way— And so I deck, a little,
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
340 Is Bliss then, such Abyss, I must not put my foot amiss For fear I spoil my shoe? I’d rather suit my foot
761 From Blank to Blank— A Threadless Way I pushed Mechanic feet— To stop—or perish—or advance—
914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude
I see thee better—in the Dark— I do not need a Light— The Love of Thee—a Prism be— Excelling Violet— I see thee better for the Years
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry....
455 Triumph—may be of several kinds— There’s Triumph in the Room When that Old Imperator—Death— By Faith
A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not, His notice sudden is. The grass divides as with a comb,
XLI THE soul unto itself Is an imperial friend,— Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.
It is an honorable thought, And makes one lift one’s hat, As one encountered gentlefolk Upon a daily street, That we’ve immortal place,
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole
651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
