#AmericanWriters
945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—
183 I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim… In a Cathedral Aisle, And understood no word it said— Yet held my breath, the while—
74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!
A clock stopped—not the mantel’s Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing That just now dangled still. An awe came on the trinket!
203 He forgot—and I—remembered— ’Twas an everyday affair— Long ago as Christ and Peter— “Warmed them” at the “Temple fire…
XXVII I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you—Nobody—too? Then there’s a pair of us! Don’t tell! they’d advertise—you k…
958 We met as Sparks—Diverging Flint… Sent various—scattered ways— We parted as the Central Flint Were cloven with an Adze—
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
199 I’m “wife”—I’ve finished that— That other state— I’m Czar—I’m “Woman” now— It’s safer so—
25 She slept beneath a tree— Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute— She recognized the foot—
86 South Winds jostle them— Bumblebees come— Hover—hesitate— Dri nk, and are gone—
43 Could live—did live— Could die—did die— Could smile upon the whole Through faith in one he met not,
23 I had a guinea golden— I lost it in the sand— And tho’ the sum was simple And pounds were in the land—
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—