#AmericanWriters
679 Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend— He doth not attest by Posture— Nor Confirm—by Word—
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…
395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity
To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn’t hurt— It’s only fainter—by degrees— And then—it’s out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
Part One: Life XXXV I CAN wade grief, Whole pools of it,— I ’m used to that.
734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid—
The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—
63 If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise,
651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing
My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
I dwell in Possibility – A fairer House than Prose – More numerous of Windows – Superior – for Doors – Of Chambers as the Cedars –
The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes
LIX I TOOK my power in my hand And went against the world; ’T was not so much as David had, But I was twice as bold.
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
