#AmericanWriters
573 The Test of Love—is Death— Our Lord—"so loved"—it saith— What Largest Lover—hath Another—doth—
169 In Ebon Box, when years have flow… To reverently peer, Wiping away the velvet dust Summers have sprinkled there!
977 Besides this May We know There is Another— How fair
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise
941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
370 Heaven is so far of the Mind That were the Mind dissolved— The Site—of it—by Architect Could not again be proved—
Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -
542 I had no Cause to be awake— My Best—was gone to sleep— And Morn a new politeness took— And failed to wake them up—
291 How the old Mountains drip with S… How the Hemlocks burn— How the Dun Brake is draped in C… By the Wizard Sun—
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
319 Of Bronze—and Blaze— The North—tonight— So adequate—it forms— So preconcerted with itself—
933 Two Travellers perishing in Snow The Forests as they froze Together heard them strengthening Each other with the words
