#AmericanWriters
672 The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come—
396 There is a Languor of the Life More imminent than Pain— ’Tis Pain’s Successor—When the S… Has suffered all it can—
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
Perhaps I asked too large— I take—no less than skies— For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town— My Basked holds—just—Firmaments—
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself— Tastes Death—the first—to hand th…
The reticent volcano keeps His never slumbering plan - Confided are his projects pink To no precarious man. If nature will not tell the tale
107 ’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away!
308 I send Two Sunsets— Day and I—in competition ran— I finished Two—and several Stars— While He—was making One—
Declaiming Waters none may dread… But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature– they are full –
I never hear the word 'escape’ Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude. I never hear of prisons broad
938 Fairer through Fading—as the Day Into the Darkness dips away— Half Her Complexion of the Sun— Hindering—Haunting—Perishing—
699 The Judge is like the Owl— I’ve heard my Father tell— And Owls do build in Oaks— So here’s an Amber Sill—
646 I think to Live—may be a Bliss To those who dare to try— Beyond my limit to conceive— My lip—to testify—