#AmericanWriters
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
682 ‘Twould ease—a Butterfly— Elate—a Bee— Thou’rt neither— Neither—thy capacity—
878 The Sun is gay or stark According to our Deed. If Merry, He is merrier— If eager for the Dead
Elysium is as far as to The very nearest Room If in that Room a Friend await Felicity or Doom— What fortitude the Soul contains
663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
461 A Wife—at daybreak I shall be— Sunrise—Hast thou a Flag for me? At Midnight, I am but a Maid, How short it takes to make a Brid…
Departed to the judgment, A mighty afternoon; Great clouds like ushers leaning, Creation looking on. The flesh surrendered, cancelled
139 Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost indeed— But tens have won an all—
Let me not mar that perfect Dream By an Auroral stain But so adjust my daily Night That it will come again. Not when we know, the Power accos…
793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—
252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy
If ever the lid gets off my head And lets the brain away The fellow will go where he belong… Without a hint from me, And the world– if the world be lo…
415 Sunset at Night—is natural— But Sunset on the Dawn Reverses Nature—Master— So Midnight's—due—at Noon.
XII I CANNOT live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
926 Patience—has a quiet Outer— Patience—Look within— Is an Insect’s futile forces Infinites—between—
