#AmericanWriters
646 I think to Live—may be a Bliss To those who dare to try— Beyond my limit to conceive— My lip—to testify—
371 A precious’—mouldering pleasure’—'… To meet an Antique Book’— In just the Dress his Century wor… A privilege’—I think’—
777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—
894 Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid— As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.
679 Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend— He doth not attest by Posture— Nor Confirm—by Word—
957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—
GLEE! the great storm is over! Four have recovered the land; Forty gone down together Into the boiling sand. Ring, for the scant salvation!
142 Whose are the little beds, I aske… Which in the valleys lie? Some shook their heads, and others… And no one made reply.
I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since
294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—
XLIX A POOR torn heart, a tattered he… That sat it down to rest, Nor noticed that the ebbing day Flowed silver to the west,
“Arcturus” is his other name’— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere! I slew a worm the other day’—
895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me
506 He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast— It was a boundless place to me
To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise