#AmericanWriters
569 I reckon—when I count it all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—
603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East
Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die
Apparently with no surprise, To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play, In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on.
530 You cannot put a Fire out— A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan— Upon the slowest Night—
882 A Shade upon the mind there passe… As when on Noon A Cloud the mighty Sun encloses Remembering
The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more. Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s p…
673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…
Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion
330 The Juggler’s Hat her Country is… The Mountain Gorse—the Bee’s!
SUCCESS is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host
37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
672 The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come—
218 Is it true, dear Sue? Are there two? I shouldn’t like to come For fear of joggling Him!