#AmericanWriters
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came
827 The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see—
84 Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a “Diver”— Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest.
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
502 At least—to pray—is left—is left— Oh Jesus—in the Air— I know not which thy chamber is— I’m knocking—everywhere—
849 The good Will of a Flower The Man who would possess Must first present Certificate
488 Myself was formed’—a Carpenter’— An unpretending time My Plane’—and I, together wrought Before a Builder came’—
777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—
I held a Jewel in my fingers’— And went to sleep’— The day was warm, and winds were p… I said 'Twill keep’— I woke’—and chid my honest fingers…
43 Could live—did live— Could die—did die— Could smile upon the whole Through faith in one he met not,
696 Their Height in Heaven comforts n… Their Glory—nought to me— ’Twas best imperfect—as it was— I’m finite—I can’t see—
233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!
941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize
862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.
Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself— Tastes Death—the first—to hand th…