#AmericanWriters
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
491 While it is alive Until Death touches it While it and I lap one Air Dwell in one Blood
281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…
94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?
The Savior must have been A docile Gentleman— To come so far so cold a Day For little Fellowmen— The Road to Bethlehem
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
To the bright east she flies, Brothers of Paradise Remit her home, Without a change of wings, Or Love’s convenient things,
432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live
440 ’Tis customary as we part A trinket—to confer— It helps to stimulate the faith When Lovers be afar—
I watched the Moon around the Hou… Until upon a Pane— She stopped—a Traveller’s privile… And there upon I gazed—as at a stranger—
588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—
52 Whether my bark went down at sea— Whether she met with gales— Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails—
117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.