#AmericanWriters
Shall I take thee, the Poet said To the propounded word? Be stationed with the Candidates Till I have finer tried— The Poet searched Philology
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa… Conscious—as old Napoleon,
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep
771 None can experience sting Who Bounty—have not known— The fact of Famine—could not be Except for Fact of Corn—
If I can stop one heart from brea… I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching… Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin
118 My friend attacks my friend! Oh Battle picturesque! Then I turn Soldier too, And he turns Satirist!
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
No rack can torture me, My soul’s at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one You cannot prick with saw,
708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—
563 I could not prove the Years had f… Yet confident they run Am I, from symptoms that are past And Series that are done—