#AmericanWriters
The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—
152 The Sun kept stooping—stooping—lo… The Hills to meet him rose! On his side, what Transaction! On their side, what Repose!
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
401 What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush… Or violate a Star—
988 The Definition of Beauty is That Definition is none— Of Heaven, easing Analysis, Since Heaven and He are one.
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
127 “Houses”—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!
868 They ask but our Delight— The Darlings of the Soil And grant us all their Countenanc… For a penurious smile.
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
433 Knows how to forget! But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how
We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,
920 We can but follow to the Sun— As oft as He go down He leave Ourselves a Sphere behin… ’Tis mostly—following—
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.
999 Superfluous were the Sun When Excellence be dead He were superfluous every Day For every Day be said
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.