#AmericanWriters
94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?
The Clover’s simple Fame Remembered of the Cow - Is better than enameled Realms Of notability. Renown perceives itself
665 Dropped into the Ether Acre— Wearing the Sod Gown— Bonnet of Everlasting Laces— Brooch—frozen on—
171 Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now!
III SOUL, wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost, indeed, But tens have won an all.
367 Over and over, like a Tune— The Recollection plays— Drums off the Phantom Battlements Cornets of Paradise—
XVII SHE rose to his requirement, drop… The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife.
229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning— and untouched by noon— Sleep the meek members of the Res… Rafter of Satin and Roof of Ston…
He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance
713 Fame of Myself, to justify, All other Plaudit be Superfluous—An Incense Beyond Necessity—
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me Had I but further scanned
Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die