#AmericanWriters
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
159 A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa…
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
79 Going to Heaven! I don’t know when— Pray do not ask me how! Indeed I’m too astonished
793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—
906 The Admirations—and Contempts—of… Show justest—through an Open Tomb… The Dying—as it were a Height Reorganizes Estimate
281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…
631 Ourselves were wed one summer—dear… Your Vision—was in June— And when Your little Lifetime fai… I wearied—too—of mine—
XXIV A NARROW fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not? His notice sudden is.
Had we our senses But perhaps ’tis well they’re not… So intimate with Madness He’s liable with them Had we the eyes without our Head—
A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs— Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
497 He strained my faith— Did he find it supple? Shook my strong trust— Did it then—yield?
157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—
37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—
Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.
