#AmericanWriters
825 An Hour is a Sea Between a few, and me— With them would Harbor be—
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
544 The Martyr Poets—did not tell— But wrought their Pang in syllabl… That when their mortal name be num… Their mortal fate—encourage Some—
After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—
I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next
726 We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s… And later—when we die— A little Water supplicate— Of fingers going by—
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
49 I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod. Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!
LV MY country need not change her go… Her triple suit as sweet As when ’t was cut at Lexington, And first pronounced “a fit.”
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,
151 Mute thy Coronation— Meek my Vive le roi, Fold a tiny courtier In thine Ermine, Sir,
276 Many a phrase has the English lan… I have heard but one— Low as the laughter of the Cricke… Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue—
78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—
I felt a cleaving in my mind As if my brain had split; I tried to match it, seam by seam, But could not make them fit. The thought behind I strove to jo…
