#AmericanWriters
406 Some’—Work for Immortality’— The Chiefer part, for Time’— He’—Compensates’—immediately’— The former’—Checks’—on Fame’—
It dropped so low—in my Regard— I heard it hit the Ground— And go to pieces on the Stones At bottom of my Mind— Yet blamed the Fate that flung it…
625 ’Twas a long Parting—but the time For Interview—had Come— Before the Judgment Seat of God— The last—and second time
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
573 The Test of Love—is Death— Our Lord—"so loved"—it saith— What Largest Lover—hath Another—doth—
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
“Unto Me?” I do not know you’— Where may be your House? “I am Jesus’—Late of Judea’— Now’—of Paradise"'— Wagons’—have you’—to convey me?
460 I know where Wells grow’—Droughtl… Deep dug’—for Summer days’— Where Mosses go no more away’— And Pebble’—safely plays’—
901 Sweet, to have had them lost For news that they be saved— The nearer they departed Us The nearer they, restored,
482 We Cover Thee—Sweet Face— Not that We tire of Thee— But that Thyself fatigue of Us— Remember—as Thou go—
128 Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, Tell me how far the morning leaps—
646 I think to Live—may be a Bliss To those who dare to try— Beyond my limit to conceive— My lip—to testify—
450 Dreams—are well—but Waking’s bett… If One wake at morn— If One wake at Midnight—better— Dreaming—of the Dawn—
894 Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid— As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.
LXVII If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam,