#AmericanWriters
A Sickness of this World it most… When Best Men die. A Wishfulness their far Condition To occupy. A Chief indifference, as Foreign
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
204 I’ll tell you how the Sun rose— A Ribbon at a time— The Steeples swam in Amethyst— The news, like Squirrels, ran—
568 We learned the Whole of Love— The Alphabet—the Words— A Chapter—then the mighty Book— Then—Revelation closed—
200 I stole them from a Bee— Because—Thee— Sweet plea— He pardoned me!
109 By a flower—By a letter— By a nimble love— If I weld the Rivet faster— Final fast—above—
61 Papa above! Regard a Mouse O’erpowered by the Cat! Reserve within thy kingdom
674 The Soul that hath a Guest Doth seldom go abroad— Diviner Crowd at Home— Obliterate the need—
353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—
753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed… As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My frie…
167 To learn the Transport by the Pai… As Blind Men learn the sun! To die of thirst—suspecting That Brooks in Meadows run!
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
My life had stood—a Loaded Gun— In Corners—till a Day The Owner passed—identified— And carried Me away— And now We roam in Sovereign Woo…
The wind tapped like a tired man, And like a host, ‘Come in,’ I boldly answered; entered then My residence within A rapid, footless guest,
723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—
