#AmericanWriters
475 Doom is the House without the Doo… ’Tis entered from the Sun— And then the Ladder’s thrown away… Because Escape—is done—
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—
802 Time feels so vast that were it no… For an Eternity— I fear me this Circumference Engross my Finity—
394 ’Twas Love’—not me’— Oh punish’—pray’— The Real one died for Thee’— Just Him’—not me’—
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—
417 Is it dead—Find it— Out of sound—Out of sight— “Happy”? Which is wiser— You, or the Wind?
They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the lune A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
“Houses”'—so the Wise Men tell me… Houses—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!
Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance