#AmericanWriters
XXI HE ate and drank the precious wor… His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was dust.
Part One: Life LII VICTORY comes late, And is held low to freezing lips Too rapt with frost
939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—
329 So glad we are—a Stranger’d deem ’Twas sorry, that we were— For where the Holiday should be There publishes a Tear—
492 Civilization—spurns—the Leopard! Was the Leopard—bold? Deserts—never rebuked her Satin— Ethiop—her Gold—
239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!
I never saw a moor; I never saw the sea, Yet know I how the heather looks And what a billow be. I never spoke with God,
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—
796 Who Giants know, with lesser Men Are incomplete, and shy— For Greatness, that is ill at eas… In minor Company—
836 Truth—is as old as God— His Twin identity And will endure as long as He A Co-Eternity—
895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
892 Who occupies this House? A Stranger I must judge Since No one know His Circumstan… ’Tis well the name and age
513 Like Flowers, that heard the news… But never deemed the dripping priz… Awaited their—low Brows— Or Bees—that thought the Summer’s…
