#AmericanWriters
The wind tapped like a tired man, And like a host, ‘Come in,’ I boldly answered; entered then My residence within A rapid, footless guest,
393 Did Our Best Moment last— ‘Twould supersede the Heaven— A few—and they by Risk—procure— So this Sort—are not given—
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
731 “I want”—it pleaded—All its life— I want—was chief it said When Skill entreated it—the last— And when so newly dead—
952 A Man may make a Remark— In itself—a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a… In dormant nature—lain—
The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied
15 The Guest is gold and crimson— An Opal guest and gray— Of Ermine is his doublet— His Capuchin gay—
487 You love the Lord’—you cannot see… You write Him’—every day’— A little note’—when you awake’— And further in the Day.
344 ’Twas the old—road—through pain— That unfrequented—One— With many a turn—and thorn— That stops—at Heaven—
903 I hide myself within my flower, That fading from your Vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me— Almost a loneliness.
678 Wolfe demanded during dying “Which obtain the Day”? “General, the British”—"Easy” Answered Wolfe “to die”
It struck me every day The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through. It burned me in the night,
506 He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast— It was a boundless place to me
If ever the lid gets off my head And lets the brain away The fellow will go where he belong… Without a hint from me, And the world– if the world be lo…
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—