#AmericanWriters
539 The Province of the Saved Should be the Art—To save— Through Skill obtained in Themsel… The Science of the Grave
127 “Houses”—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
I see thee better—in the Dark— I do not need a Light— The Love of Thee—a Prism be— Excelling Violet— I see thee better for the Years
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”
849 The good Will of a Flower The Man who would possess Must first present Certificate
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—
626 Only God—detect the Sorrow— Only God— The Jehovahs—are no Babblers— Unto God—
888 When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House— And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place—
689 The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous— We learned to like the Fire By playing Glaciers—when a Boy— And Tinder—guessed—by power
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
641 Size circumscribes—it has no room For petty furniture— The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture—
107 ’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away!
778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—