#AmericanWriters
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,
353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—
266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!
595 Like Mighty Foot Lights’—burned… At Bases of the Trees’— The far Theatricals of Day Exhibiting’—to These’—
262 The lonesome for they know not Wh… The Eastern Exiles—be— Who strayed beyond the Amber line Some madder Holiday—
II OUR share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.
954 The Chemical conviction That Nought be lost Enable in Disaster My fractured Trust—
Two butterflies went out at noon And waltzed above a stream, Then stepped straight through the… And rested on a beam; And then together bore away
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
720 No Prisoner be— Where Liberty— Himself—abide with Thee—
382 For Death—or rather For the Things 'twould buy— This—put away Life’s Opportunity—
951 As Frost is best conceived By force of its Result— Affliction is inferred By subsequent effect—
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry....
553 One Crucifixion is recorded’—only… How many be Is not affirmed of Mathematics’— Or History’—