#AmericanWriters
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
482 We Cover Thee—Sweet Face— Not that We tire of Thee— But that Thyself fatigue of Us— Remember—as Thou go—
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
537 Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity—
My cocoon tightens, colors tease, I’m feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be
323 As if I asked a common Alms, And in my wondering hand A Stranger pressed a Kingdom, And I, bewildered, stand—
837 How well I knew Her not Whom not to know has been A Bounty in prospective, now Next Door to mine the Pain.
914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude
The wind tapped like a tired man, And like a host, ‘Come in,’ I boldly answered; entered then My residence within A rapid, footless guest,
722 Sweet Mountains—Ye tell me no lie… Never deny Me—Never fly— Those same unvarying Eyes Turn on Me—when I fail—or feign,
13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand
69 Low at my problem bending, Another problem comes— Larger than mine—Serener— Involving statelier sums.
771 None can experience sting Who Bounty—have not known— The fact of Famine—could not be Except for Fact of Corn—
It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,
606 The Trees like Tassels—hit—and sw… There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying the Sun—
