#AmericanWriters
XXXIX I MEANT to have but modest need… Such as content, and heaven; Within my income these could lie, And life and I keep even.
548 Death is potential to that Man Who dies—and to his friend— Beyond that—unconspicuous To Anyone but God—
The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
529 I’m sorry for the Dead—Today— It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences— It’s time o’ year for Hay.
Air has no Residence, no Neighbor… No Ear, no Door, No Apprehension of Another Oh, Happy Air! Ethereal Guest at e’en an Outcast…
A chilly Peace infests the Grass The Sun respectful lies - Not any Trance of industry These shadows scrutinize - Whose Allies go no more astray
To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn’t hurt— It’s only fainter—by degrees— And then—it’s out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—
Who were “the Father and the Son” We pondered when a child, And what had they to do with us And when portentous told With inference appalling
319 Of Bronze — and Blaze — The North — tonight — So adequate — it forms — So preconcerted with itself —
Is it too late to touch you, Dear… We this moment knew - Love Marine and Love terrene - Love celestial too -
375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—
348 I would not paint — a picture — I'd rather be the One It's bright impossibility To dwell — delicious — on —
159 A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa…