#AmericanWriters
No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken To that dull Girl? Trivial a Word—just—
221 It can’t be “Summer”! That—got through! It’s early—yet—for “Spring”! There’s that long town of White—t…
690 Victory comes late— And is held low to freezing lips— Too rapt with frost To take it—
710 The Sunrise runs for Both— The East—Her Purple Troth Keeps with the Hill— The Noon unwinds Her Blue
Pain—has an Element of Blank— It cannot recollect When it begun—or if there were A time when it was not— It has no Future—but itself—
358 If any sink, assure that this, now… Failed like Themselves—and consci… Grew by the Fact, and not the Und… How Weakness passed—or Force—aros…
84 Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a “Diver”— Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest.
912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
276 Many a phrase has the English lan… I have heard but one— Low as the laughter of the Cricke… Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue—
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…
A Coffin’—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave’—is a restricted Breadth’…
There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
Lightly stepped a yellow star To its lofty place - Loosed the Moon her silver hat From her lustral Face - All of Evening softly lit