#AmericanWriters
275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—
97 The rainbow never tells me That gust and storm are by, Yet is she more convincing Than Philosophy.
I never hear the word 'escape’ Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude. I never hear of prisons broad
685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
923 How the Waters closed above Him We shall never know— How He stretched His Anguish to… That—is covered too—
319 Of Bronze—and Blaze— The North—tonight— So adequate—it forms— So preconcerted with itself—
814 One Day is there of the Series Termed Thanksgiving Day. Celebrated part at Table Part in Memory.
I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me. And frigates in the upper floor
192 Poor little Heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little Heart!
256 If I’m lost—now That I was found— Shall still my transport be— That once—on me—those Jasper Gate…
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,
37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—
492 Civilization—spurns—the Leopard! Was the Leopard—bold? Deserts—never rebuked her Satin— Ethiop—her Gold—
979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—
381 A Secret told— Ceases to be a Secret—then— A Secret—kept— That—can appal but One—