#AmericanWriters
722 Sweet Mountains—Ye tell me no lie… Never deny Me—Never fly— Those same unvarying Eyes Turn on Me—when I fail—or feign,
301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?
“Speech”'—is a prank of Parliamen… “Tears”'—is a trick of the nerve’— But the Heart with the heaviest f… Doesn’t’—always’—move’—
770 I lived on Dread— To Those who know The Stimulus there is In Danger—Other impetus
183 I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim… In a Cathedral Aisle, And understood no word it said— Yet held my breath, the while—
37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—
831 Dying! To be afraid of thee One must to thine Artillery Have left exposed a Friend— Than thine old Arrow is a Shot
444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—
237 I think just how my shape will ris… When I shall be “forgiven”— Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Hea… Are out of sight—in Heaven—
19 A sepal, petal, and a thorn Upon a common summer’s morn— A flask of Dew—A Bee or two— A Breeze—a caper in the trees—
59 A little East of Jordan, Evangelists record, A Gymnast and an Angel Did wrestle long and hard—
395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity
552 An ignorance a Sunset Confer upon the Eye— Of Territory—Color— Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
The Face we choose to miss - Be it but for a Day As absent as a Hundred Years, When it has rode away.
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,