#AmericanWriters
8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables
It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bell… Put out their tongues, for noon. It was not frost, for on my flesh
448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense
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,
550 I cross till I am weary A Mountain—in my mind— More Mountains—then a Sea— More Seas—And then
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by! From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory! From marshallings as simple
191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!
940 On that dear Frame the Years had… Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Lig… The Witnessing, to Us—
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
342 It will be Summer—eventually. Ladies—with parasols— Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes— And little Girls—with Dolls—
850 I sing to use the Waiting My Bonnet but to tie And shut the Door unto my House No more to do have I
273 He put the Belt around my life I heard the Buckle snap— And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up—
851 When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face— When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race
631 Ourselves were wed one summer’—dea… Your Vision’—was in June’— And when Your little Lifetime fai… I wearied’—too’—of mine’—
400 A Tongue’—to tell Him I am true! Its fee’—to be of Gold’— Had Nature’—in Her monstrous Hou… A single Ragged Child’—