#AmericanWriters
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…
XVII SHE rose to his requirement, drop… The playthings of her life To take the honorable work Of woman and of wife.
94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity
“Why do I love” You, Sir? Because’— The Wind does not require the Gra… To answer’—Wherefore when He pass She cannot keep Her place.
78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—
669 No Romance sold unto Could so enthrall a Man As the perusal of His Individual One—
496 As far from pity, as complaint— As cool to speech—as stone— As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone—
423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry…
128 Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, Tell me how far the morning leaps—
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”
971 Robbed by Death—but that was easy… To the failing Eye I could hold the latest Glowing— Robbed by Liberty