#AmericanWriters
628 They called me to the Window, for “ ’Twas Sunset”—Some one said— I only saw a Sapphire Farm— And just a Single Herd—
132 I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching Next to mine, And summon them to drink;
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
855 To own the Art within the Soul The Soul to entertain With Silence as a Company And Festival maintain
842 Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt! Better, to be found, If one care to, that is, The Fox fits the Hound—
XLIV THE show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be.
155 The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft—yieldeth me— If any ask me why— ’Twere easier to die—
No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken To that dull Girl? Trivial a Word—just—
230 We—Bee and I—live by the quaffing… ’Tisn’t all Hock—with us— Life has its Ale— But it’s many a lay of the Dim Bu…
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me
774 It is a lonesome Glee— Yet sanctifies the Mind— With fair association— Afar upon the Wind
LXXIX I YEARS had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before
910 Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By—Paradox—the Mind itself— Presuming it to lead
874 They won’t frown always—some sweet… When I forget to tease— They’ll recollect how cold I look… And how I just said “Please.”