#AmericanWriters
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
469 The Red—Blaze—is the Morning— The Violet—is Noon— The Yellow—Day—is falling— And after that—is none—
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
Immured in Heaven! What a Cell! Let every Bondage be, Thou sweetest of the Universe, Like that which ravished thee!
865 He outstripped Time with but a Bo… He outstripped Stars and Sun And then, unjaded, challenged God In presence of the Throne.
104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.
504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
171 Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now!
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—
Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore Has vanquished Flame’s conditions…
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—