#AmericanWriters
XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.
56 If I should cease to bring a Rose Upon a festal day, ‘Twill be because beyond the Rose I have been called away—
614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
LXI EACH life converges to some cent… Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal,
XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
460 I know where Wells grow’—Droughtl… Deep dug’—for Summer days’— Where Mosses go no more away’— And Pebble’—safely plays’—
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.
7 The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go— The Crocus—til she rises The Vassal of the snow—
199 I’m “wife”—I’ve finished that— That other state— I’m Czar—I’m “Woman” now— It’s safer so—
A Coffin—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave—is a restricted Breadth—
448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense
978 It bloomed and dropt, a Single No… The Flower—distinct and Red— I, passing, thought another Noon Another in its stead
858 This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life I mention it to you, When Sunrise through a fissure dr… The Day must follow too.
386 Answer July— Where is the Bee— Where is the Blush— Where is the Hay?