#AmericanWriters
The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day
607 Of nearness to her sundered Thing… The Soul has special times— When Dimness—looks the Oddity— Distinctness—easy—se ems—
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
38 By such and such an offering To Mr. So and So, The web of live woven— So martyrs albums show!
163 Tho’ my destiny be Fustian— Hers be damask fine— Tho’ she wear a silver apron— I, a less divine—
384 No Rack can torture me— My Soul—at Liberty— Behind this mortal Bone There knits a bolder One—
751 My Worthiness is all my Doubt— His Merit—all my fear— Contrasting which, my quality Do lowlier—appear—
111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—
The spry Arms of the Wind If I could crawl between I have an errand imminent To an adjoining Zone - I should not care to stop
57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,
68 Ambition cannot find him. Affection doesn’t know How many leagues of nowhere Lie between them now.
115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?
965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—