#AmericanWriters
292 If your Nerve, deny you— Go above your Nerve— He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve—
XLI THE soul unto itself Is an imperial friend,— Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.
882 A Shade upon the mind there passe… As when on Noon A Cloud the mighty Sun encloses Remembering
So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole
969 He who in Himself believes— Fraud cannot presume— Faith is Constancy’s Result— And assumes—from Home—
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
82 Whose cheek is this? What rosy face Has lost a blush today? I found her—"pleiad"—in the woods
718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—
821 Away from Home are some and I— An Emigrant to be In a Metropolis of Homes Is easy, possibly—
426 It don't sound so terrible—quite—a… I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "De… Put it in Latin—left of my school… Seems it don't shriek so—under rul…
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
158 Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?
27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—
232 The Sun’—just touched the Morning… The Morning’—Happy thing’— Supposed that He had come to dwel… And Life would all be Spring!