#AmericanWriters
240 Ah, Moon—and Star! You are very far— But were no one Farther than you—
608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!
XII I ASKED no other thing, No other was denied. I offered Being for it; The mighty merchant smiled.
263 Is all that pins the Soul That stands for Deity, to Mine, Upon my side the Veil— Once witnessed of the Gauze—
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
355 ’Tis Opposites—entice— Deformed Men—ponder Grace— Bright fires—the Blanketless— The Lost—Day’s face—
716 The Day undressed—Herself— Her Garter—was of Gold— Her Petticoat—of Purple plain— Her Dimities—as old
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
773 Deprived of other Banquet, I entertained Myself— At first—a scant nutrition— An insufficient Loaf—
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.
XXV Wild nights—Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury!
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
687 I’ll send the feather from my Hat… Who knows—but at the sight of that My Sovereign will relent? As trinket—worn by faded Child—
562 Conjecturing a Climate Of unsuspended Suns— Adds poignancy to Winter— The Shivering Fancy turns