#AmericanWriters
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
“I want”—it pleaded—All its life— I want—was chief it said When Skill entreated it—the last— And when so newly dead— I could not deem it late—to hear
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!
Two butterflies went out at noon And waltzed above a stream, Then stepped straight through the… And rested on a beam; And then together bore away
844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,
183 I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim… In a Cathedral Aisle, And understood no word it said— Yet held my breath, the while—
982 No Other can reduce Our mortal Consequence Like the remembering it be nought A Period from hence
181 I lost a World - the other day! Has Anybody found? You’ll know it by the Row of Star… Around its forehead bound.
681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—
368 How sick—to wait—in any place—but… I knew last night—when someone tri… Thinking—perhaps—that I looked ti… Or breaking—almost—with unspoken p…
XIV SOME things that fly there be,— Birds, hours, the bumble-bee: Of these no elegy. Some things that stay there be,—
193 I shall know why — when Time is o… And I have ceased to wonder why — Christ will explain each separate… In the fair schoolroom of the sky…
848 Just as He spoke it from his Hand… This Edifice remain— A Turret more, a Turret less Dishonor his Design—
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die