#AmericanWriters
867 Escaping backward to perceive The Sea upon our place— Escaping forward, to confront His glittering Embrace—
385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—
461 A Wife—at daybreak I shall be— Sunrise—Hast thou a Flag for me? At Midnight, I am but a Maid, How short it takes to make a Brid…
742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
It struck me every day The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through. It burned me in the night,
An everywhere of silver, With ropes of sand To keep it from effacing The track called land.
831 Dying! To be afraid of thee One must to thine Artillery Have left exposed a Friend— Than thine old Arrow is a Shot
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—
154 Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels—lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.
888 When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House— And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place—
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
649 Her Sweet turn to leave the Homes… Came the Darker Way— Carriages—Be Sure—and Guests—too… But for Holiday
100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold