#AmericanWriters
27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.
690 Victory comes late— And is held low to freezing lips— Too rapt with frost To take it—
825 An Hour is a Sea Between a few, and me— With them would Harbor be—
65 I can’t tell you—but you feel it— Nor can you tell me— Saints, with ravished slate and pe… Solve our April Day!
820 All Circumstances are the Frame In which His Face is set— All Latitudes exist for His Sufficient Continent—
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
XXXVII LOVE is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.
574 My first well Day — since many il… I asked to go abroad, And take the Sunshine in my hands… And see the things in Pod —
My life closed twice before its cl… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me So huge, so hopeless to conceive
792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—
XXXIV NATURE is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon— Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee… Nay—Nature is Heaven.
XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
387 The sweetest Heresy received That Man and Woman know— Each Other’s Convert— Though the Faith accommodate but…
522 Had I presumed to hope— The loss had been to Me A Value—for the Greatness’ Sake— As Giants—gone away—