#AmericanWriters
619 Glee—The great storm is over— Four—have recovered the Land— Forty gone down together— Into the boiling Sand.
347 When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair—
117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
342 It will be Summer—eventually. Ladies—with parasols— Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes— And little Girls—with Dolls—
283 A Mien to move a Queen— Half Child—Half Heroine— An Orleans in the Eye That puts its manner by
No rack can torture me, My soul’s at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one You cannot prick with saw,
I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry…
50 I haven’t told my garden yet— Lest that should conquer me. I haven’t quite the strength now To break it to the Bee—
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
346 Not probable—The barest Chance— A smile too few—a word too much And far from Heaven as the Rest— The Soul so close on Paradise—
590 Did you ever stand in a Cavern’s… Widths out of the Sun— And look—and shudder, and block yo… And deem to be alone
