#AmericanWriters
Whether they have forgotten Or are forgetting now Or never remembered - Safer not to know - Miseries of conjecture
98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!
So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
The Butterfly in honored Dust Assuredly will lie But none will pass the Catacomb So chastened as the Fly -
694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—
849 The good Will of a Flower The Man who would possess Must first present Certificate
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
XIV I’M ceded, I ’ve stopped being th… The name they dropped upon my face With water, in the country church, Is finished using now,
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
887 We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer— Till it an Antique fashion shows— Like Costumes Grandsires wore.
141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!