#AmericanWriters
965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
This was a Poet —It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings — And Attar so immense From the familiar species
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
928 The Heart has narrow Banks It measures like the Sea In mighty—unremitting Bass And Blue Monotony
Pain—has an Element of Blank— It cannot recollect When it begun—or if there were A time when it was not— It has no Future—but itself—
Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—
417 Is it dead—Find it— Out of sound—Out of sight— “Happy”? Which is wiser— You, or the Wind?
Apparently with no surprise, To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play, In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on.
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—
The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown In Chrysoprase Apartments hung This afternoon put on— How condescending to descend And be of Buttercups the friend
SUCCESS is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host
569 I reckon—when I count at all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—
595 Like Mighty Foot Lights—burned t… At Bases of the Trees— The far Theatricals of Day Exhibiting—to These—