#AmericanWriters
LXXXII THERE’S a certain slant of ligh… On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.
173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!
86 South Winds jostle them— Bumblebees come— Hover—hesitate— Dri nk, and are gone—
9 Through lane it lay—through brambl… Through clearing and through wood— Banditti often passed us Upon the lonely road.
The wind begun to rock the grass With threatening tunes and low,— He flung a menace at the earth, A menace at the sky. The leaves unhooked themselves fro…
364 The Morning after Woe— ’Tis frequently the Way— Surpasses all that rose before— For utter Jubilee—
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
313 I should have been too glad, I se… Too lifted—for the scant degree Of Life’s penurious Round— My little Circuit would have sham…
27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.
984 ’Tis Anguish grander than Delight ’Tis Resurrection Pain— The meeting Bands of smitten Face We questioned to, again.
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
207 Tho’ I get home how late’—how lat… So I get home - 'twill compensate… Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me’—
788 Joy to have merited the Pain— To merit the Release— Joy to have perished every step— To Compass Paradise—
THE BAT is dun with wrinkled wi… Like fallow article, And not a song pervades his lips, Or none perceptible. His small umbrella, quaintly halve…