#AmericanWriters
It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
559 It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—'twas not Pain—
I never saw a moor; I never saw the sea, Yet know I how the heather looks And what a billow be. I never spoke with God,
353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—
III SOUL, wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost, indeed, But tens have won an all.
Her final summer was it, And yet we guessed it not; If tenderer industriousness Pervaded her, we thought A further force of life
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
XVIII READ, sweet, how others strove, Till we are stouter; What they renounced, Till we are less afraid;
853 When One has given up One’s life The parting with the rest Feels easy, as when Day lets go Entirely the West
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm
528 Mine—by the Right of the White E… Mine—by the Royal Seal! Mine—by the sign in the Scarlet p… Bars—cannot conceal!
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—