#AmericanWriters
761 From Blank to Blank— A Threadless Way I pushed Mechanic feet— To stop—or perish—or advance—
512 The Soul has Bandaged moments— When too appalled to stir— She feels some ghastly Fright com… And stop to look at her—
74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!
Out of sight? What of that? See the Bird —reach it! Curve by Curve —Sweep by Sweep — Round the Steep Air — Danger! What is that to Her?
All men for Honor hardest work But are not known to earn - Paid after they have ceased to wor… In Infamy or Urn -
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
XIII THE soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
189 It’s such a little thing to weep— So short a thing to sigh— And yet—by Trades—the size of the… We men and women die!
375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—
Elysium is as far as to The very nearest Room If in that Room a Friend await Felicity or Doom— What fortitude the Soul contains
Perhaps I asked too large— I take—no less than skies— For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town— My Basked holds—just—Firmaments—
’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away! ’Twas such a greedy, greedy wave
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.