#AmericanWriters
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
820 All Circumstances are the Frame In which His Face is set— All Latitudes exist for His Sufficient Continent—
17 Baffled for just a day or two— Embarrassed—not afraid— Encounter in my garden An unexpected Maid.
427 I'll clutch — and clutch — Next — One — Might be the golden… Could take it — Diamonds — Wait —
97 The rainbow never tells me That gust and storm are by, Yet is she more convincing Than Philosophy.
925 Struck, was I, not yet by Lightni… Lightning—lets away Power to perceive His Process With Vitality.
870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–
900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
876 It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone Enclosed ’twas not of Rail A Consciousness its Acre, and It held a Human Soul.
GLEE! the great storm is over! Four have recovered the land; Forty gone down together Into the boiling sand. Ring, for the scant salvation!
789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty
799 Despair’s advantage is achieved By suffering—Despair— To be assisted of Reverse One must Reverse have bore—