#AmericanWriters
A Sickness of this World it most… When Best Men die. A Wishfulness their far Condition To occupy. A Chief indifference, as Foreign
556 The Brain, within its Groove Runs evenly—and true— But let a Splinter swerve— ’Twere easier for You—
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
854 Banish Air from Air— Divide Light if you dare— They’ll meet While Cubes in a Drop
So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go
XXII I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity.
306 The Soul’s Superior instants Occur to Her—alone— When friend—and Earth’s occasion Have infinite withdrawn—
868 They ask but our Delight— The Darlings of the Soil And grant us all their Countenanc… For a penurious smile.
493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—
MINE by the right of the white e… Mine by the royal seal! Mine by the sign in the scarlet pr… Bars cannot conceal! Mine, here in vision and in veto!
909 I make His Crescent fill or lack— His Nature is at Full Or Quarter—as I signify— His Tides—do I control—
133 As Children bid the Guest “Good… And then reluctant turn— My flowers raise their pretty lips… Then put their nightgowns on.
186 What shall I do—it whimpers so— This little Hound within the Hear… All day and night with bark and st… And yet, it will not go—
519 ’Twas warm—at first—like Us— Until there crept upon A Chill—like frost upon a Glass— Till all the scene—be gone.
506 He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast— It was a boundless place to me