#AmericanWriters
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
399 A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached—
34 Garland for Queens, may be— Laurels—for rare degree Of soul or sword. Ah—but remembering me—
970 Color — Caste — Denomination — These — are Time's Affair — Death's diviner Classifying Does not know they are —
121 As Watchers hang upon the East, As Beggars revel at a feast By savory Fancy spread— As brooks in deserts babble sweet
After great pain a formal feeling… The nerves sit ceremonious like to… The stiff Heart questions—was it… And yesterday—or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round
373 I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way— And so I deck, a little,
355 ’Tis Opposites—entice— Deformed Men—ponder Grace— Bright fires—the Blanketless— The Lost—Day’s face—
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
70 “Arcturus” is his other name— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere!
876 It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone Enclosed ’twas not of Rail A Consciousness its Acre, and It held a Human Soul.
260 Read—Sweet—how others—strove— Till we—are stouter— What they—renounced— Till we—are less afraid—
13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand
Not with a club, the Heart is bro… Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see… I’ve known To lash the magic creature