#AmericanWriters
443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—
665 Dropped into the Ether Acre— Wearing the Sod Gown— Bonnet of Everlasting Laces— Brooch—frozen on—
Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,
Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance
Oh Shadow on the Grass, Art thou a Step or not? Go make thee fair my Candidate My nominated Heart - Oh Shadow on the Grass
The nearest dream recedes, unreali… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school-boy Invites the race;
Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion
You said that I “was Great”'—one… Then “Great” it be’—if that pleas… Or Small’—or any size at all’— Nay’—I’m the size suit Thee’— Tall’—like the Stag’—would that?
768 When I hoped, I recollect Just the place I stood— At a Window facing West— Roughest Air—was good—
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—
501 This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond— Invisible, as Music— But positive, as Sound—
359 I gained it so— By Climbing slow— By Catching at the Twigs that gro… Between the Bliss—and me—
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
984 ’Tis Anguish grander than Delight ’Tis Resurrection Pain— The meeting Bands of smitten Face We questioned to, again.
348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—