#AmericanWriters #CommonMeasure #Epigram
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
20 Distrustful of the Gentian— And just to turn away, The fluttering of her fringes Child my perfidy—
384 No Rack can torture me— My Soul—at Liberty— Behind this mortal Bone There knits a bolder One—
673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…
To the bright east she flies, Brothers of Paradise Remit her home, Without a change of wings, Or Love’s convenient things,
627 The Tint I cannot take—is best— The Color too remote That I could show it in Bazaar— A Guinea at a sight—
940 On that dear Frame the Years had… Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Lig… The Witnessing, to Us—
841 A Moth the hue of this Haunts Candles in Brazil. Nature’s Experience would make Our Reddest Second pale.
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
This was a Poet —It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings — And Attar so immense From the familiar species
To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn’t hurt— It’s only fainter—by degrees— And then—it’s out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—
821 Away from Home are some and I— An Emigrant to be In a Metropolis of Homes Is easy, possibly—
The Hills erect their Purple Hea… The Rivers lean to see Yet Man has not of all the Throng A Curiosity.
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—