#AmericanWriters
The Road was lit with Moon and st… The Trees were bright and still - Descried I - by the distant Ligh… A Traveller on a Hill - To magic Perpendiculars
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—
660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—
809 Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity— Unable they that love—to die
134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil
LXVII Presentment is that long shadow on… Indicative that suns go down; The notice to the startled grass That darkness is about to pass.
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
We like March, his shoes are purp… He is new and high; Makes he mud for dog and peddler, Makes he forest dry; Knows the adder’s tongue his comin…
I many times thought Peace had co… When Peace was far away’— As Wrecked Men’—deem they sight t… At Centre of the Sea’— And struggle slacker’—but to prove
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
746 Never for Society He shall seek in vain— Who His own acquaintance Cultivate—Of Men
I SHOULD have been too glad, I… Too lifted for the scant degree Of life’s penurious round; My little circuit would have shame… This new circumference, have blame…
482 We Cover Thee—Sweet Face— Not that We tire of Thee— But that Thyself fatigue of Us— Remember—as Thou go—
768 When I hoped, I recollect Just the place I stood— At a Window facing West— Roughest Air—was good—
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—