#AmericanWriters
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
798 She staked her Feathers—Gained an… Debated—Rose again— This time—beyond the estimate Of Envy, or of Men—
168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!
After great pain a formal feeling… The nerves sit ceremonious like to… The stiff Heart questions—was it… And yesterday—or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round
760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—
789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty
140 An altered look about the hills— A Tyrian light the village fills— A wider sunrise in the morn— A deeper twilight on the lawn—
LXIII TALK with prudence to a beggar Of “Potosi” and the mines! Reverently to the hungry Of your viands and your wines!
838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine
580 I gave myself to Him— And took Himself, for Pay, The solemn contract of a Life Was ratified, this way—
LVII EXCEPT the heaven had come so n… So seemed to choose my door, The distance would not haunt me so… I had not hoped before.
86 South Winds jostle them— Bumblebees come— Hover—hesitate— Dri nk, and are gone—
Those fair—fictitious People— The Women—plucked away From our familiar Lifetime— The Men of Ivory— Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—
541 Some such Butterfly be seen On Brazilian Pampas— Just at noon—no later—Sweet— Then—the License closes—
862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.