#AmericanWriters
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
925 Struck, was I, not yet by Lightni… Lightning—lets away Power to perceive His Process With Vitality.
464 The power to be true to You, Until upon my face The Judgment push his Picture— Presumptuous of Your Place—
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!
383 Exhiliration—is within— There can no Outer Wine So royally intoxicate As that diviner Brand
37 Before the ice is in the pools— Before the skaters go, Or any check at nightfall Is tarnished by the snow—
963 A nearness to Tremendousness— An Agony procures— Affliction ranges Boundlessness— Vicinity to Laws
641 Size circumscribes—it has no room For petty furniture— The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture—
523 Sweet — You forgot — but I rememb… Every time — for Two — So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You —
595 Like Mighty Foot Lights’—burned… At Bases of the Trees’— The far Theatricals of Day Exhibiting’—to These’—
786 Severer Service of myself I—hastened to demand To fill the awful Vacuum Your life had left behind—
45 There’s something quieter than sle… Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name.
71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—
793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—