#AmericanWriters
All men for Honor hardest work But are not known to earn - Paid after they have ceased to wor… In Infamy or Urn -
After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
208 The Rose did caper on her cheek— Her Bodice rose and fell— Her pretty speech—like drunken men… Did stagger pitiful—
938 Fairer through Fading—as the Day Into the Darkness dips away— Half Her Complexion of the Sun— Hindering—Haunting—Perishing—
384 No Rack can torture me— My Soul—at Liberty— Behind this mortal Bone There knits a bolder One—
956 What shall I do when the Summer t… What, when the Rose is ripe— What when the Eggs fly off in Mus… From the Maple Keep?
XIII THE soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
Because I could not stop for Deat… He kindly stopped for me– The Carriage held but just Oursel… And Immortality. We slowly drove– He knew no haste
233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!
677 To be alive—is Power— Existence—in itself— Without a further function— Omnipotence—Enough—
705 Suspense—is Hostiler than Death— Death—tho’soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increas… Suspense—does not conclude –
675 Essential Oilsare wrung The Attar from the Rose Be not expressed by Sunsalone It is the gift of Screws
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -