#AmericanWriters
957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—
166 I met a King this afternoon! He had not on a Crown indeed, A little Palmleaf Hat was all, And he was barefoot, I’m afraid!
A still – Volcano – Life – That flickered in the night – When it was dark enough to do Without erasing sight – A quiet – Earthquake Style –
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
873 Ribbons of the Year— Multitude Brocade— Worn to Nature’s Party once Then, as flung aside
423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—
XVI TO fight aloud is very brave, But gallanter, I know, Who charge within the bosom, The cavalry of woe.
384 No Rack can torture me— My Soul—at Liberty— Behind this mortal Bone There knits a bolder One—
198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.
27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.
Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die
442 God made a little Gentian— It tried—to be a Rose— And failed—and all the Summer lau… But just before the Snows
535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—
LXXXII THERE’S a certain slant of ligh… On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.
