#AmericanWriters
God permit industrious angels Afternoons to play. I met one,—forgot my school-mates, All, for him, straightaway. God calls home the angels promptly
How Human Nature dotes On what it can’t detect. The moment that a Plot is plumbed Prospective is extinct - Prospective is the friend
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep
This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…
806 A Planted Life—diversified With Gold and Silver Pain To prove the presence of the Ore In Particles—'tis when
“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—
There cam a Wind like a Bugle - It quivered through the Grass And a Green Chill upon the Heat So ominous did pass We barred the Windows and the Doo…
446 I showed her Heights she never sa… “Would’st Climb,” I said? She said—"Not so"— “With me—” I said—With me?
945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—
569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—
Whether they have forgotten Or are forgetting now Or never remembered - Safer not to know - Miseries of conjecture
This was a Poet —It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings — And Attar so immense From the familiar species
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us