#AmericanWriters
148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
498 I envy Seas, whereon He rides— I envy Spokes of Wheels Of Chariots, that Him convey— I envy Crooked Hills
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
703 Out of sight? What of that? See the Bird—reach it! Curve by Curve—Sweep by Sweep— Round the Steep Air—
218 Is it true, dear Sue? Are there two? I shouldn’t like to come For fear of joggling Him!
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.
988 The Definition of Beauty is That Definition is none— Of Heaven, easing Analysis, Since Heaven and He are one.
497 He strained my faith— Did he find it supple? Shook my strong trust— Did it then—yield?
How lonesome the Wind must feel N… When people have put out the Ligh… And everything that has an Inn Closes the shutter and goes in— How pompous the Wind must feel No…
84 Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a “Diver”— Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest.
Of all the souls that stand create I have elected one. When sense from spirit files away, And subterfuge is done; When that which is and that which…
862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.
448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense
728 Let Us play Yesterday— I—the Girl at school— You—and Eternity—the Untold Tale—