#AmericanWriters
Proud of my broken heart, since th… Proud of the pain, I did not feel… Proud of my night, since thou, wit… Not to partake thy passion, –my hu… Thou can’st not boast, like Jesus…
Before you thought of spring, Except as a surmise, You see, God bless his suddenness… A fellow in the skies Of independent hues,
560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
302 Like Some Old fashioned Miracle When Summertime is done— Seems Summer’s Recollection And the Affairs of June
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
549 That I did always love I bring thee Proof That till I loved I never lived—Enough—
Part One: Life LII VICTORY comes late, And is held low to freezing lips Too rapt with frost
827 The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see—
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—
403 The Winters are so short— I’m hardly justified In sending all the Birds away— And moving into Pod—
131 Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze—
Whether they have forgotten Or are forgetting now Or never remembered - Safer not to know - Miseries of conjecture
632 The Brain—is wider than the Sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will contain With ease—and You—beside—
