#AmericanWriters
34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—
You said that I “was Great”'—one… Then “Great” it be’—if that pleas… Or Small’—or any size at all’— Nay’—I’m the size suit Thee’— Tall’—like the Stag’—would that?
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.
XXVIII I BRING an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching, next to min… And summon them to drink. Crackling with fever, they essay;
XII I ASKED no other thing, No other was denied. I offered Being for it; The mighty merchant smiled.
845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!
Escape is such a thankful Word I often in the Night Consider it unto myself No spectacle in sight Escape - it is the Basket
It struck me every day The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through. It burned me in the night,
Some keep the Sabbath going to Ch… I keep it, staying at Home— With a Bobolink for a Chorister— And an Orchard, for a Dome— Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice…
238 Kill your Balm’—and its Odors ble… Bare your Jessamine’—to the storm… And she will fling her maddest per… Haply’—your Summer night to Charm…
Why – do they shut Me out of Heav… Did I sing – too loud? But – I can say a little “minor” Timid as a Bird! Wouldn’t the Angels try me –
’Twas Crisis—All the length had p… That dull—benumbing time There is in Fever or Event— And now the Chance had come— The instant holding in its claw
347 When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair—
850 I sing to use the Waiting My Bonnet but to tie And shut the Door unto my House No more to do have I