#AmericanWriters
A Sickness of this World it most… When Best Men die. A Wishfulness their far Condition To occupy. A Chief indifference, as Foreign
344 ’Twas the old—road—through pain— That unfrequented—One— With many a turn—and thorn— That stops—at Heaven—
546 To fill a Gap Insert the Thing that caused it— Block it up With Other—and 'twill yawn the mo…
669 No Romance sold unto Could so enthrall a Man As the perusal of His Individual One—
116 I had some things that I called m… And God, that he called his, Till, recently a rival Claim Disturbed these amities.
My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
963 A nearness to Tremendousness— An Agony procures— Affliction ranges Boundlessness— Vicinity to Laws
87 A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—
I watched the Moon around the Hou… Until upon a Pane— She stopped—a Traveller’s privile… And there upon I gazed—as at a stranger—
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came