#AmericanWriters
184 A transport one cannot contain May yet a transport be— Though God forbid it lift the lid… Unto its Ecstasy!
990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—
386 Answer July— Where is the Bee— Where is the Blush— Where is the Hay?
491 While it is alive Until Death touches it While it and I lap one Air Dwell in one Blood
159 A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa…
901 Sweet, to have had them lost For news that they be saved— The nearer they departed Us The nearer they, restored,
608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
LXII A DROP fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh.
459 A Tooth upon Our Peace The Peace cannot deface— Then Wherefore be the Tooth? To vitalize the Grace—
They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…
Part One: Life XXXV I CAN wade grief, Whole pools of it,— I ’m used to that.
302 Like Some Old fashioned Miracle When Summertime is done— Seems Summer’s Recollection And the Affairs of June
XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—