#AmericanWriters
993 We miss Her, not because We see— The Absence of an Eye— Except its Mind accompany Abridge Society
833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament
761 From Blank to Blank— A Threadless Way I pushed Mechanic feet— To stop—or perish—or advance—
Volcanoes be in Sicily And South America I judge from my Geography - Volcanos nearer here A Lava step at any time
657 I dwell in Possibility— A fairer House than Prose— More numerous of Windows— Superior—for Doors—
724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—
729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
521 Endow the Living—with the Tears— You squander on the Dead, And They were Men and Women—now, Around Your Fireside—
Apparently with no surprise, To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play, In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on.
417 Is it dead—Find it— Out of sound—Out of sight— “Happy”? Which is wiser— You, or the Wind?
448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense
I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…
15 The Guest is gold and crimson— An Opal guest and gray— Of Ermine is his doublet— His Capuchin gay—