#AmericanWriters
301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?
271 A solemn thing—it was—I said— A woman—white—to be— And wear—if God should count me f… Her blameless mystery—
607 Of nearness to her sundered Thing… The Soul has special times— When Dimness—looks the Oddity— Distinctness—easy—se ems—
960 As plan for Noon and plan for Nig… So differ Life and Death In positive Prospective— The Foot upon the Earth
941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize
651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes— I wonder if It weighs like Mine— Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long—
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
976 Death is a Dialogue between The Spirit and the Dust. “Dissolve” says Death—The Spirit… I have another Trust”—
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
88 As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear— As for the lost we grapple Tho’ all the rest are here—
696 Their Height in Heaven comforts n… Their Glory—nought to me— ’Twas best imperfect—as it was— I’m finite—I can’t see—
846 Twice had Summer her fair Verdure Proffered to the Plain— Twice a Winter’s silver Fracture On the Rivers been—
30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—