#AmericanWriters
LXXXVIII HEAVEN is what I cannot reach! The apple on the tree, Provided it do hopeless hang, That “heaven” is, to me.
So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole
660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—
A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs— Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—
627 The Tint I cannot take—is best— The Color too remote That I could show it in Bazaar— A Guinea at a sight—
71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—
XXXIV NATURE is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon— Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee… Nay—Nature is Heaven.
546 To fill a Gap Insert the Thing that caused it— Block it up With Other—and 'twill yawn the mo…
65 I can’t tell you—but you feel it— Nor can you tell me— Saints, with ravished slate and pe… Solve our April Day!
659 That first Day, when you praised… And said that I was strong— And could be mighty, if I liked— That Day—the Days among—
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
XLI THE soul unto itself Is an imperial friend,— Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.
To my quick ear the leaves conferr… The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide,