#AmericanWriters
854 Banish Air from Air— Divide Light if you dare— They’ll meet While Cubes in a Drop
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
LXVII A DEED knocks first at thought, And then it knocks at will. That is the manufacturing spot, And will at home and well.
This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…
15 The Guest is gold and crimson— An Opal guest and gray— Of Ermine is his doublet— His Capuchin gay—
There comes a warning like a spy A shorter breath of Day A stealing that is not a stealth And Summers are away
588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—
522 Had I presumed to hope— The loss had been to Me A Value—for the Greatness’ Sake— As Giants—gone away—
Safe in their alabaster chambers, Untouched by morning and untouched… Sleep the meek members of the resu… Rafter of satin, and roof of stone… Light laughs the breeze in her cas…
17 Baffled for just a day or two— Embarrassed—not afraid— Encounter in my garden An unexpected Maid.
84 Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a “Diver”— Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest.
661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me
698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—
I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry…