#AmericanWriters
The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—
766 My Faith is larger than the Hills… So when the Hills decay— My Faith must take the Purple Wh… To show the Sun the way—
445 ’Twas just this time, last year,… I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms— It had the Tassels on—
141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
430 It would never be Common — more —… Difference — had begun — Many a bitterness — had been — But that old sort — was done —
896 Of Silken Speech and Specious Sh… A Traitor is the Bee His service to the newest Grace Present continually
No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken To that dull Girl? Trivial a Word—just—
I taste a liquor never brewed, From tankards scooped in pearl; Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol! Inebriate of air am I,
His Heart was darker than the sta… For that there is a morn But in this black Receptacle Can be no Bode of Dawn
883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light
194 On this long storm the Rainbow ro… On this late Morn—the Sun— The clouds—like listless Elephant… Horizons—straggled down—
He ate and drank the precious Wor… His Spirit grew robust— He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust— He danced along the dingy Days
114 Good night, because we must, How intricate the dust! I would go, to know! Oh incognito!
VIII A wounded deer leaps highest, I ’ve heard the hunter tell; ’T is but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still.