#AmericanWriters
There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
LXXXVIII HEAVEN is what I cannot reach! The apple on the tree, Provided it do hopeless hang, That “heaven” is, to me.
My Garden—like the Beach— Denotes there be—a Sea— That’s Summer— Such as These—the Pearls She fetches—such as Me
181 I lost a World - the other day! Has Anybody found? You’ll know it by the Row of Star… Around its forehead bound.
LXXXVI A LADY red upon the hill Her annual secret keeps; A lady white within the field In placid lily sleeps!
910 Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By—Paradox—the Mind itself— Presuming it to lead
761 From Blank to Blank— A Threadless Way I pushed Mechanic feet— To stop—or perish—or advance—
III SOUL, wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost, indeed, But tens have won an all.
560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—
806 A Planted Life—diversified With Gold and Silver Pain To prove the presence of the Ore In Particles—'tis when
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
The Black Berry—wears a Thorn in… But no Man heard Him cry— He offers His Berry, just the sam… To Partridge—and to Boy— He sometimes holds upon the Fence…
578 The Body grows without— The more convenient way— That if the Spirit—like to hide Its Temple stands, alway,
You said that I “was Great”'—one… Then “Great” it be’—if that pleas… Or Small’—or any size at all’— Nay’—I’m the size suit Thee’— Tall’—like the Stag’—would that?
I hide myself within my flower, That wearing on your breast, You, unsuspecting, wear me too - And angels know the rest. I hide myself within my flower,