#AmericanWriters
455 Triumph—may be of several kinds— There’s Triumph in the Room When that Old Imperator—Death— By Faith
257 Delight is as the flight— Or in the Ratio of it, As the Schools would say— The Rainbow’s way—
XLIV THE show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be.
284 The Drop, that wrestles in the Se… Forgets her own locality— As I—toward Thee— She knows herself an incense small…
907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—
Yesterday is History, ’Tis so far away - Yesterday is Poetry - ’Tis Philosophy - Yesterday is mystery -
681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—
The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more. Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s p…
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
748 Autumn—overlooked my Knitting— Dyes—said He—have I— Could disparage a Flamingo— Show Me them—said I—
966 All forgot for recollecting Just a paltry One— All forsook, for just a Stranger’… New Accompanying—
150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—
156 You love me—you are sure— I shall not fear mistake— I shall not cheated wake— Some grinning morn—
851 When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face— When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race
653 Of Being is a Bird The likest to the Down An Easy Breeze do put afloat The General Heavens—upon—