#AmericanWriters
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
“Sic transit gloria mundi,” “How doth the busy bee,” “Dum vivimus vivamus,” I stay mine enemy! Oh “veni, vidi, vici!”
’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away! ’Twas such a greedy, greedy wave
71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—
586 We talked as Girls do— Fond, and late— We speculated fair, on every subje… Of ours, none affair—
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—
100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold
68 Ambition cannot find him. Affection doesn’t know How many leagues of nowhere Lie between them now.
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—
43 Could live—did live— Could die—did die— Could smile upon the whole Through faith in one he met not,
I saw the wind within her I knew it blew for me '— But she must buy my shelter I asked Humility
783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
578 The Body grows without— The more convenient way— That if the Spirit—like to hide Its Temple stands, alway,
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—