#AmericanWriters
There comes a warning like a spy A shorter breath of Day A stealing that is not a stealth And Summers are away
369 She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon—
718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—
792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
XVIII READ, sweet, how others strove, Till we are stouter; What they renounced, Till we are less afraid;
273 He put the Belt around my life I heard the Buckle snap— And turned away, imperial, My Lifetime folding up—
57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,
Part One: Life XXXV I CAN wade grief, Whole pools of it,— I ’m used to that.
Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found - Returns us not, but after time
467 We do not play on Graves— Because there isn’t Room— Besides—it isn’t even—it slants And People come—
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
865 He outstripped Time with but a Bo… He outstripped Stars and Sun And then, unjaded, challenged God In presence of the Throne.
Some keep the Sabbath going to Ch… I keep it, staying at Home— With a Bobolink for a Chorister— And an Orchard, for a Dome— Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice…
“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