#AmericanWriters
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
834 Before He comes we weigh the Time… ’Tis Heavy and ’tis Light. When He depart, an Emptiness Is the prevailing Freight.
123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!
538 ’Tis true—They shut me in the Col… But then—Themselves were warm And could not know the feeling ’tw… Forget it—Lord—of Them—
674 The Soul that hath a Guest Doth seldom go abroad— Diviner Crowd at Home— Obliterate the need—
938 Fairer through Fading—as the Day Into the Darkness dips away— Half Her Complexion of the Sun— Hindering—Haunting—Perishing—
868 They ask but our Delight— The Darlings of the Soil And grant us all their Countenanc… For a penurious smile.
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
267 Did we disobey Him? Just one time! Charged us to forget Him— But we couldn’t learn!
838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine
241 I like a look of Agony, Because I know it’s true— Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate, a Throe—
A door just opened on a street— I, lost, was passing by— An instant’s width of warmth discl… And wealth, and company. The door as sudden shut, and I,