#AmericanWriters
999 Superfluous were the Sun When Excellence be dead He were superfluous every Day For every Day be said
My River runs to thee’— Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply’— Oh Sea’—look graciously’— I’ll fetch thee Brooks
“Speech”'—is a prank of Parliamen… “Tears”'—is a trick of the nerve’— But the Heart with the heaviest f… Doesn’t’—always’—move’—
453 Love — thou art high — I cannot climb thee — But, were it Two — Who knows but we —
XV I know some lonely houses off the… A robber ’d like the look of,— Wooden barred, And windows hanging low,
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
346 Not probable—The barest Chance— A smile too few—a word too much And far from Heaven as the Rest— The Soul so close on Paradise—
I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
842 Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt! Better, to be found, If one care to, that is, The Fox fits the Hound—
XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
597 It always felt to me—a wrong To that Old Moses—done— To let him see—the Canaan— Without the entering—
1100 The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different
876 It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone Enclosed ’twas not of Rail A Consciousness its Acre, and It held a Human Soul.
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry....