#AmericanWriters
March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -
A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in
192 Poor little Heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little Heart!
A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs— Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
910 Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By—Paradox—the Mind itself— Presuming it to lead
877 Each Scar I’ll keep for Him Instead I’ll say of Gem In His long Absence worn A Costlier one
The nearest dream recedes, unreali… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school-boy Invites the race;
386 Answer July— Where is the Bee— Where is the Blush— Where is the Hay?
Remembrance has a Rear and Front… ’Tis something like a House - It has a Garret also For Refuse and the Mouse. Besides the deepest Cellar
Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships
325 Of Tribulation, these are They, Denoted by the White— The Spangled Gowns, a lesser Ran… Of Victors—designate—
281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—
379 Rehearsal to Ourselves Of a Withdrawn Delight— Affords a Bliss like Murder— Omnipotent—Acute—
10 My wheel is in the dark! I cannot see a spoke Yet know its dripping feet Go round and round.