#AmericanWriters
This was a Poet —It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings — And Attar so immense From the familiar species
174 At last, to be identified! At last, the lamps upon thy side The rest of Life to see! Past Midnight! Past the Morning…
369 She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon—
The spry Arms of the Wind If I could crawl between I have an errand imminent To an adjoining Zone - I should not care to stop
A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,
After great pain a formal feeling… The nerves sit ceremonious like to… The stiff Heart questions—was it… And yesterday—or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round
342 It will be Summer—eventually. Ladies—with parasols— Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes— And little Girls—with Dolls—
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
Nature, the gentlest mother, Impatient of no child, The feeblest or the waywardest, Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair. Be its mattress straight,
A Coffin’—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave’—is a restricted Breadth’…
455 Triumph—may be of several kinds— There’s Triumph in the Room When that Old Imperator—Death— By Faith
A Word dropped careless on a Page May stimulate an eye When folded in perpetual seam The Wrinkled Maker lie Infection in the sentence breeds
208 The Rose did caper on her cheek— Her Bodice rose and fell— Her pretty speech—like drunken men… Did stagger pitiful—
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—