#AmericanWriters
789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty
348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—
“Morning”—means “Milking”—to the… Dawn—to the Teneriffe— Dice—to the Maid— Morning means just Risk—to the Lo… Just revelation—to the Beloved—
845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!
81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.
942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee
388 Take your Heaven further on— This—to Heaven divine Has gone— Had You earlier blundered in Possibly, e’en You had seen
887 We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer— Till it an Antique fashion shows— Like Costumes Grandsires wore.
A little East of Jordan, Evangelists record, A Gymnast and an Angel Did wrestle long and hard— Till morning touching mountain—
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
480 “Why do I love” You, Sir? Because— The Wind does not require the Gra… To answer—Wherefore when He pass
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
76 Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, Past the houses—past the headlands… Into deep Eternity—
A chilly Peace infests the Grass The Sun respectful lies - Not any Trance of industry These shadows scrutinize - Whose Allies go no more astray
A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs— Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin