#AmericanWriters
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.
514 Her smile was shaped like other sm… The Dimples ran along— And still it hurt you, as some Bi… Did hoist herself, to sing,
XCIX THERE is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry.
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.
479 She dealt her pretty words like B… How glittering they shone— And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone—
’Twas Crisis—All the length had p… That dull—benumbing time There is in Fever or Event— And now the Chance had come— The instant holding in its claw
123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.
407 If What we could—were what we wou… Criterion—be small— It is the Ultimate of Talk— The Impotence to Tell—
928 The Heart has narrow Banks It measures like the Sea In mighty—unremitting Bass And Blue Monotony
I SHOULD have been too glad, I… Too lifted for the scant degree Of life’s penurious round; My little circuit would have shame… This new circumference, have blame…
23 I had a guinea golden— I lost it in the sand— And tho’ the sum was simple And pounds were in the land—
235 The Court is far away— No Umpire—have I— My Sovereign is offended— To gain his grace—I’d die!
909 I make His Crescent fill or lack— His Nature is at Full Or Quarter—as I signify— His Tides—do I control—
394 ’Twas Love’—not me’— Oh punish’—pray’— The Real one died for Thee’— Just Him’—not me’—