#AmericanWriters
440 ’Tis customary as we part A trinket—to confer— It helps to stimulate the faith When Lovers be afar—
529 I’m sorry for the Dead—Today— It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences— It’s time o’ year for Hay.
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
859 A doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
938 Fairer through Fading—as the Day Into the Darkness dips away— Half Her Complexion of the Sun— Hindering—Haunting—Perishing—
267 Did we disobey Him? Just one time! Charged us to forget Him— But we couldn’t learn!
There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
CXXVIII I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm.
The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied
800 Two—were immortal twice— The privilege of few— Eternity—obtained—in Time— Reversed Divinity’—
589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
406 Some’—Work for Immortality’— The Chiefer part, for Time’— He’—Compensates’—immediately’— The former’—Checks’—on Fame’—
141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.