#AmericanWriters
642 Me from Myself — to banish — Had I Art — Impregnable my Fortress Unto All Heart —
322 There came a Day at Summer’s full… Entirely for me— I thought that such were for the… Where Resurrections—be—
657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—
608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!
762 The Whole of it came not at once— ’Twas Murder by degrees— A Thrust—and then for Life a chan… The Bliss to cauterize—
340 Is Bliss then, such Abyss, I must not put my foot amiss For fear I spoil my shoe? I’d rather suit my foot
588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
174 At last, to be identified! At last, the lamps upon thy side The rest of Life to see! Past Midnight! Past the Morning…
665 Dropped into the Ether Acre— Wearing the Sod Gown— Bonnet of Everlasting Laces— Brooch—frozen on—
100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold
91 So bashful when I spied her! So pretty—so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find—
604 Unto my Books’—so good to turn’— Far ends of tired Days’— It half endears the Abstinence’— And Pain’—is missed’—in Praise’—
You said that I “was Great”'—one… Then “Great” it be’—if that pleas… Or Small’—or any size at all’— Nay’—I’m the size suit Thee’— Tall’—like the Stag’—would that?
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—