#AmericanWriters
725 Where Thou art—that—is Home— Cashmere—or Calvary—the same— Degree—or Shame— I scarce esteem Location’s Name—
365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore
Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found - Returns us not, but after time
250 I shall keep singing! Birds will pass me On their way to Yellower Climes— Each—with a Robin’s expectation—
326 I cannot dance upon my Toes’— No Man instructed me’— But oftentimes, among my mind, A Glee possesseth me,
158 Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?
719 A South Wind—has a pathos Of individual Voice— As One detect on Landings An Emigrant’s address.
408 Unit, like Death, for Whom? True, like the Tomb, Who tells no secret Told to Him—
753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed… As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My frie…
283 A Mien to move a Queen— Half Child—Half Heroine— An Orleans in the Eye That puts its manner by
So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go
Why – do they shut Me out of Heav… Did I sing – too loud? But – I can say a little “minor” Timid as a Bird! Wouldn’t the Angels try me –
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,
