#AmericanWriters
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
73 Who never lost, are unprepared A Coronet to find! Who never thirsted Flagons, and Cooling Tamarind!
959 A loss of something ever felt I— The first that I could recollect Bereft I was—of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect
152 The Sun kept stooping—stooping—lo… The Hills to meet him rose! On his side, what Transaction! On their side, what Repose!
XL I NEVER lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod; Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—
215 What is – “Paradise” – Who live there – Are they “Farmers” – Do they “hoe” –
The nearest dream recedes, unreali… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school-boy Invites the race;
A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in
XLIII I LIKE to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step
596 When I was small, a Woman died— Today—her Only Boy Went up from the Potomac— His face all Victory
1068 Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass.
March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -
