#AmericanWriters
122 A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon—
A drop fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
294 The Doomed’—regard the Sunrise With different Delight’— Because’—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it’—
Lightly stepped a yellow star To its lofty place - Loosed the Moon her silver hat From her lustral Face - All of Evening softly lit
883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light
674 The Soul that hath a Guest Doth seldom go abroad— Diviner Crowd at Home— Obliterate the need—
THE Brain—is wider than the sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will include With ease—and you—beside— The Brain is deeper than the sea—
426 It don't sound so terrible—quite—a… I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "De… Put it in Latin—left of my school… Seems it don't shriek so—under rul…
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found - Returns us not, but after time
293 I got so I could take his name— Without—Tremendous gain— That Stop-sensation—on my Soul— And Thunder—in the Room—
EXCEPT the heaven had come so n… So seemed to choose my door, The distance would not haunt me so… I had not hoped before. But just to hear the grace depart
1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm
