#AmericanWriters
348 I would not paint — a picture — I'd rather be the One It's bright impossibility To dwell — delicious — on —
414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony
607 Of nearness to her sundered Thing… The Soul has special times— When Dimness—looks the Oddity— Distinctness—easy—se ems—
228 Blazing in Gold and quenching in… Leaping like Leopards to the Sky Then at the feet of the old Horiz… Laying her spotted Face to die
883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light
831 Dying! To be afraid of thee One must to thine Artillery Have left exposed a Friend— Than thine old Arrow is a Shot
‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us
677 To be alive’—is Power’— Existence’—in itself’— Without a further function’— Omnipotence’—Enough’—
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…
543 I fear a Man of frugal Speech— I fear a Silent Man— Haranguer—I can overtake— Or Babbler—entertain—
862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.
His Heart was darker than the sta… For that there is a morn But in this black Receptacle Can be no Bode of Dawn
1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.
78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—