#AmericanWriters
8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables
I bet with every Wind that blew Till Nature in chagrin Employed a Fact to visit me And scuttle my Balloon -
The Hills erect their Purple Hea… The Rivers lean to see Yet Man has not of all the Throng A Curiosity.
551 There is a Shame of Nobleness— Confronting Sudden Pelf— A finer Shame of Ecstasy— Convicted of Itself—
158 Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?
904 Had I not This, or This, I said, Appealing to Myself, In moment of prosperity— Inadequate—were Life—
They say that ‘time assuages,’— Time never did assuage; An actual suffering strengthens, As sinews do, with age. Time is a test of trouble,
714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—
84 Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a “Diver”— Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest.
707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—
I see thee better—in the Dark— I do not need a Light— The Love of Thee—a Prism be— Excelling Violet— I see thee better for the Years
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By strech of limb or stir of lid,— An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?
941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize