#AmericanWriters
673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…
14 One Sister have I in our house, And one, a hedge away. There’s only one recorded, But both belong to me.
774 It is a lonesome Glee— Yet sanctifies the Mind— With fair association— Afar upon the Wind
The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—
559 It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—'twas not Pain—
45 There’s something quieter than sle… Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name.
724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—
867 Escaping backward to perceive The Sea upon our place— Escaping forward, to confront His glittering Embrace—
396 There is a Languor of the Life More imminent than Pain— ’Tis Pain’s Successor—When the S… Has suffered all it can—
399 A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached—
148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.
If all the griefs I am to have Would only come today, I am so happy I believe They’d laugh and run away. If all the joys I am to have
138 Pigmy seraphs’—gone astray’— Velvet people from Vevay’— Balles from some lost summer day’— Bees exclusive Coterie’—
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,