#AmericanWriters
No brigadier throughout the year So civic as the jay. A neighbor and a warrior too, With shrill felicity Pursuing winds that censure us
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
451 The Outer—from the Inner Derives its Magnitude— 'Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood—
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—
A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun! Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass…
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—
900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness
627 The Tint I cannot take—is best— The Color too remote That I could show it in Bazaar— A Guinea at a sight—
803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—
35 Nobody knows this little Rose— It might a pilgrim be Did I not take it from the ways And lift it up to thee.
The Soul selects her own Society— Then—shuts the Door— To her divine Majority— Present no more— Unmoved—she notes the Chariots—pa…
I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…
191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!