#AmericanWriters
Not Sickness stains the Brave, Nor any Dart, Nor Doubt of Scene to come, But an adjourning Heart -
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.
12 The morns are meeker than they wer… The nuts are getting brown— The berry’s cheek is plumper— The Rose is out of town.
154 Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels—lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.
The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,
LXXIII I ’LL tell you how the sun rose,— A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.
The Butterfly in honored Dust Assuredly will lie But none will pass the Catacomb So chastened as the Fly -
656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
523 Sweet — You forgot — but I rememb… Every time — for Two — So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You —
867 Escaping backward to perceive The Sea upon our place— Escaping forward, to confront His glittering Embrace—
809 Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity— Unable they that love—to die
199 I’m “wife”—I’ve finished that— That other state— I’m Czar—I’m “Woman” now— It’s safer so—