#AmericanWriters
Let me not mar that perfect Dream By an Auroral stain But so adjust my daily Night That it will come again. Not when we know, the Power accos…
462 Why make it doubt — it hurts it so… So sick — to guess — So strong — to know — So brave — upon its little Bed
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
787 Such is the Force of Happiness— The Least—can lift a Ton Assisted by its stimulus— Who Misery—sustain—
402 I pay—in Satin Cash— You did not state—your price— A Petal, for a Paragraph It near as I can guess—
Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships
481 The Himmaleh was known to stoop Unto the Daisy low— Transported with Compassion That such a Doll should grow
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
LXXXVIII HEAVEN is what I cannot reach! The apple on the tree, Provided it do hopeless hang, That “heaven” is, to me.
XVI TO fight aloud is very brave, But gallanter, I know, Who charge within the bosom, The cavalry of woe.
346 Not probable—The barest Chance— A smile too few—a word too much And far from Heaven as the Rest— The Soul so close on Paradise—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm
This was a Poet —It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings — And Attar so immense From the familiar species
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.