#AmericanWriters
XXXVIII THROUGH the straight pass of su… The martyrs even trod, Their feet upon temptation, Their faces upon God.
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…
The thought beneath so slight a fi… Is more distincly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.
A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King, But God be with the Clown - Who ponders this tremendous scene… This whole Experiment of Green -
725 Where Thou art—that—is Home— Cashmere—or Calvary—the same— Degree—or Shame— I scarce esteem Location’s Name—
218 Is it true, dear Sue? Are there two? I shouldn’t like to come For fear of joggling Him!
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
LXXIII I ’LL tell you how the sun rose,— A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.
240 Ah, Moon—and Star! You are very far— But were no one Farther than you—
574 My first well Day — since many il… I asked to go abroad, And take the Sunshine in my hands… And see the things in Pod —
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—
929 How far is it to Heaven? As far as Death this way— Of River or of Ridge beyond Was no discovery.
UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…