#AmericanWriters
913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end
HE preached upon “breadth” till i… The broad are too broad to define: And of “truth” until it proclaimed… The truth never flaunted a sign. Simplicity fled from his counterfe…
671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes—
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!
257 Delight is as the flight— Or in the Ratio of it, As the Schools would say— The Rainbow’s way—
517 He parts Himself’—like Leaves’— And then’—He closes up’— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup’—
13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand
My life closed twice before its cl… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me So huge, so hopeless to conceive
Two butterflies went out at noon And waltzed above a stream, Then stepped straight through the… And rested on a beam; And then together bore away
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—
XIX I STARTED early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me,
463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy
914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude