#AmericanWriters
444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—
777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—
The Devil—had he fidelity Would be the best friend— Because he has ability— But Devils cannot mend— Perfidy is the virtue
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—
A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky— A little purple—slipped between—
985 The Missing All’—prevented Me From missing minor Things. If nothing larger than a World’s Departure from a Hinge’—
998 Best Things dwell out of Sight The Pearl—the Just—Our Thought. Most shun the Public Air Legitimate, and Rare—
All men for Honor hardest work But are not known to earn - Paid after they have ceased to wor… In Infamy or Urn -
407 If What we could—were what we wou… Criterion—be small— It is the Ultimate of Talk— The Impotence to Tell—
965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—
774 It is a lonesome Glee— Yet sanctifies the Mind— With fair association— Afar upon the Wind
929 How far is it to Heaven? As far as Death this way— Of River or of Ridge beyond Was no discovery.
616 I rose—because He sank— I thought it would be opposite— But when his power dropped— My Soul grew straight.
500 Within my Garden, rides a Bird Upon a single Wheel— Whose spokes a dizzy Music make As ’twere a travelling Mill—
442 God made a little Gentian— It tried—to be a Rose— And failed—and all the Summer lau… But just before the Snows