#AmericanWriters
734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid—
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
765 You constituted Time— I deemed Eternity A Revelation of Yourself— ’Twas therefore Deity
383 Exhiliration—is within— There can no Outer Wine So royally intoxicate As that diviner Brand
959 A loss of something ever felt I— The first that I could recollect Bereft I was—of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect
14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.
239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!
176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?
The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,
241 I like a look of Agony, Because I know it’s true— Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate, a Throe—
831 Dying! To be afraid of thee One must to thine Artillery Have left exposed a Friend— Than thine old Arrow is a Shot
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
901 Sweet, to have had them lost For news that they be saved— The nearer they departed Us The nearer they, restored,
451 The Outer—from the Inner Derives its Magnitude— 'Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood—
LXI EACH life converges to some cent… Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal,