#AmericanWriters
565 One Anguish—in a Crowd— A Minor thing—it sounds— And yet, unto the single Doe Attempted of the Hounds
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
876 It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone Enclosed ’twas not of Rail A Consciousness its Acre, and It held a Human Soul.
Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.
456 So well that I can live without— I love thee—then How well is that… As well as Jesus? Prove it me
488 Myself was formed’—a Carpenter’— An unpretending time My Plane’—and I, together wrought Before a Builder came’—
Water makes many Beds For those averse to sleep - Its awful chamber open stands - Its Curtains blandly sweep - Abhorrent is the Rest
115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?
A Wind that rose Though not a Leaf In any Forest stirred But with itself did cold engage Beyond the Realm of Bird -
842 Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt! Better, to be found, If one care to, that is, The Fox fits the Hound—
MINE enemy is growing old, I have at last revenge. The palate of the hate departs; If any would avenge, Let him be quick, the viand flits,
871 The Sun and Moon must make their… The Stars express around For in the Zones of Paradise The Lord alone is burned—
83 Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home— As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune—
72 Glowing is her Bonnet, Glowing is her Cheek, Glowing is her Kirtle, Yet she cannot speak.