#AmericanWriters
240 Ah, Moon—and Star! You are very far— But were no one Farther than you—
How Human Nature dotes On what it can’t detect. The moment that a Plot is plumbed Prospective is extinct - Prospective is the friend
408 Unit, like Death, for Whom? True, like the Tomb, Who tells no secret Told to Him—
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
Of Brussels—it was not— Of Kidderminster? Nay— The Winds did buy it of the Woods… They—sold it unto me It was a gentle price—
I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I’m accustomed to him grown,— He hurts a little, though. I thought if I could only live
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
667 Bloom upon the Mountain—stated— Blameless of a Name— Efflorescence of a Sunset— Reproduced—the same—
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
I breathed enough to learn the tri… And now, removed from air, I simulate the breath so well, That one, to be quite sure The lungs are stirless, must desce…
293 I got so I could take his name— Without—Tremendous gain— That Stop-sensation—on my Soul— And Thunder—in the Room—
620 It makes no difference abroad— The Seasons—fit—the same— The Mornings blossom into Noons— And split their Pods of Flame—
Whether they have forgotten Or are forgetting now Or never remembered - Safer not to know - Miseries of conjecture
Drowning is not so pitiful As the attempt to rise. Three times, 't is said, a sinking… Comes up to face the skies, And then declines forever