#AmericanWriters
556 The Brain, within its Groove Runs evenly—and true— But let a Splinter swerve— ’Twere easier for You—
Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.
When a Lover is a Beggar Abject is his Knee - When a Lover is an Owner Different is he - What he begged is then the Beggar…
XXVII BECAUSE I could not stop for D… He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Oursel… And Immortality.
His Heart was darker than the sta… For that there is a morn But in this black Receptacle Can be no Bode of Dawn
1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—
902 The first Day that I was a Life I recollect it—How still— That last Day that I was a Life I recollect it—as well—
532 I tried to think a lonelier Thing Than any I had seen— Some Polar Expiation—An Omen in… Of Death’s tremendous nearness—
Some keep the Sabbath going to Ch… I keep it, staying at Home— With a Bobolink for a Chorister— And an Orchard, for a Dome— Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice…
421 A Charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld— The Lady dare not lift her Veil For fear it be dispelled—
Remorse– is Memory– awake - Her Parties all astir - A Presence of Departed Acts - At window– and at Door – Its Past - set down before the S…
LVII EXCEPT the heaven had come so n… So seemed to choose my door, The distance would not haunt me so… I had not hoped before.
969 He who in Himself believes— Fraud cannot presume— Faith is Constancy’s Result— And assumes—from Home—
83 Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home— As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune—
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—