#AmericanWriters
614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—
VIII A wounded deer leaps highest, I ’ve heard the hunter tell; ’T is but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still.
83 Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home— As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune—
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
772 The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost— The Summit is not given
98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!
How lonesome the Wind must feel N… When people have put out the Ligh… And everything that has an Inn Closes the shutter and goes in— How pompous the Wind must feel No…
861 Split the Lark—and you’ll find th… Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled… Scantilly dealt to the Summer Mor… Saved for your Ear when Lutes be…
903 I hide myself within my flower, That fading from your Vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me— Almost a loneliness.
38 By such and such an offering To Mr. So and So, The web of live woven— So martyrs albums show!
911 Too little way the House must lie From every Human Heart That holds in undisputed Lease A white inhabitant—
How firm Eternity must look To crumbling men like me The only Adamant Estate In all Identity - How mighty to the insecure
XXXVII For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.
Good night! which put the candle o… A jealous zephyr, not a doubt. Ah! friend, you little knew How long at that celestial wick The angels labored diligent;
