#AmericanWriters
A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached— Whose Chimney never smoked—
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—
The Black Berry—wears a Thorn in… But no Man heard Him cry— He offers His Berry, just the sam… To Partridge—and to Boy— He sometimes holds upon the Fence…
Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
430 It would never be Common — more —… Difference — had begun — Many a bitterness — had been — But that old sort — was done —
660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
982 No Other can reduce Our mortal Consequence Like the remembering it be nought A Period from hence
965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—
10 My wheel is in the dark! I cannot see a spoke Yet know its dripping feet Go round and round.
252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy
931 Noon—is the Hinge of Day— Evening—the Tissue Door— Morning—the East compelling the s… Till all the World is ajar—
359 I gained it so— By Climbing slow— By Catching at the Twigs that gro… Between the Bliss—and me—
239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!