#AmericanWriters
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
661 Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit me
My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun— In Corners—till a Day The Owner passed—identified— And carried Me away— And now We roam in Sovereign Woo…
All men for Honor hardest work But are not known to earn - Paid after they have ceased to wor… In Infamy or Urn -
LXIII TALK with prudence to a beggar Of “Potosi” and the mines! Reverently to the hungry Of your viands and your wines!
106 The Daisy follows soft the Sun— And when his golden walk is done— Sits shyly at his feet— He—waking—finds the flower there—
76 Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, Past the houses—past the headlands… Into deep Eternity—
108 Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit—Life!
104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.
124 In lands I never saw—they say Immortal Alps look down— Whose Bonnets touch the firmament… Whose Sandals touch the town—
838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine
As from the earth the light Ballo… Asks nothing but release - Ascension that for which it was, Its soaring Residence. The spirit looks upon the Dust
Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -