#AmericanWriters
1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.
128 Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, Tell me how far the morning leaps—
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
952 A Man may make a Remark— In itself—a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a… In dormant nature—lain—
I had not minded—Walls— Were Universe—one Rock— And far I heard his silver Call The other side the Block— I’d tunnel—till my Groove
906 The Admirations’—and Contempts’—o… Show justest’—through an Open Tom… The Dying’—as it were a Height Reorganizes Estimate
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
163 Tho’ my destiny be Fustian— Hers be damask fine— Tho’ she wear a silver apron— I, a less divine—
462 Why make it doubt — it hurts it so… So sick — to guess — So strong — to know — So brave — upon its little Bed
487 You love the Lord’—you cannot see… You write Him’—every day’— A little note’—when you awake’— And further in the Day.
II OUR share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.
131 Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze—
The Wind took up the Northern Th… And piled them in the south - Then gave the East unto the West And opening his mouth The four Divisions of the Earth
769 One and One—are One— Two—be finished using— Well enough for schools— But for minor Choosing—
990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—