#AmericanWriters
‘T was just this time last year I… I know I heard the corn, When I was carried by the farms,— It had the tassels on. I thought how yellow it would look
916 His Feet are shod with Gauze— His Helmet, is of Gold, His Breast, a Single Onyx With Chrysophrase, inlaid.
334 All the letters I can write Are not fair as this— Syllables of Velvet— Sentences of Plush,
194 On this long storm the Rainbow ro… On this late Morn—the Sun— The clouds—like listless Elephant… Horizons—straggled down—
118 My friend attacks my friend! Oh Battle picturesque! Then I turn Soldier too, And he turns Satirist!
622 To know just how He suffered—woul… To know if any Human eyes were ne… To whom He could entrust His wave… Until it settle broad—on Paradise…
The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery
869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid
226 Should you but fail at—Sea— In sight of me— Or doomed lie— Next Sun—to die—
851 When the Astronomer stops seeking For his Pleiad’s Face— When the lone British Lady Forsakes the Arctic Race
962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
I DIED for beauty, but was scarc… Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…
The nearest dream recedes, unreali… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school-boy Invites the race;
990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—