#AmericanWriters
496 As far from pity, as complaint— As cool to speech—as stone— As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone—
950 The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Sunset hence must be For treason not of His, but Life’… Gone Westerly, Today—
XX ARCTURUS is his other name,— I ’d rather call him star! It ’s so unkind of science To go and interfere!
129 Cocoon above! Cocoon below! Stealthy Cocoon, why hide you so What all the world suspect? An hour, and gay on every tree
824 [first version] The Wind begun to knead the Grass… As Women do a Dough— He flung a Hand full at the Plain…
994 Partake as doth the Bee, Abstemiously. The Rose is an Estate— In Sicily.
840 I cannot buy it—’tis not sold— There is no other in the World— Mine was the only one I was so happy I forgot
A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached— Whose Chimney never smoked—
863 That Distance was between Us That is not of Mile or Main— The Will it is that situates— Equator—never can—
734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid—
Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,
926 Patience’—has a quiet Outer’— Patience’—Look within’— Is an Insect’s futile forces Infinites’—between’—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
XLIV THE show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be.
752 So the Eyes accost’—and sunder In an Audience’— Stamped’—occasionally’—forever’— So may Countenance