#AmericanWriters
To mend each tattered Faith There is a needle fair Though no appearance indicate ’Tis threaded in the Air And though it do not wear
489 We pray—to Heaven— We prate—of Heaven— Relate—when Neighbors die— At what o’clock to heaven—they fle…
It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -
344 ’Twas the old—road—through pain— That unfrequented—One— With many a turn—and thorn— That stops—at Heaven—
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away! ’Twas such a greedy, greedy wave
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
121 As Watchers hang upon the East, As Beggars revel at a feast By savory Fancy spread— As brooks in deserts babble sweet
II OUR share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.
690 Victory comes late— And is held low to freezing lips— Too rapt with frost To take it—
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
521 Endow the Living—with the Tears— You squander on the Dead, And They were Men and Women—now, Around Your Fireside—
XLIII I LIKE to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step
Between My Country—and the Other… There is a Sea— But Flowers—negotiate between us— As Ministry.
Volcanoes be in Sicily And South America I judge from my Geography - Volcanos nearer here A Lava step at any time