#AmericanWriters
146 On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair—
821 Away from Home are some and I— An Emigrant to be In a Metropolis of Homes Is easy, possibly—
MY cocoon tightens, colors tease, I 'm feeling for the air; A dim capacity for wings Degrades the dress I wear. A power of butterfly must be
477 No Man can compass a Despair— As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed—
98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets,… Prodigal of blue, Spending scarlet like a woman,
281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…
A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs— Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
938 Fairer through Fading—as the Day Into the Darkness dips away— Half Her Complexion of the Sun— Hindering—Haunting—Perishing—
395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
765 You constituted Time— I deemed Eternity A Revelation of Yourself— ’Twas therefore Deity