#AmericanWriters
366 Although I put away his life— An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear… This might have been the Hand
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
189 It’s such a little thing to weep— So short a thing to sigh— And yet—by Trades—the size of the… We men and women die!
It dropped so low—in my Regard— I heard it hit the Ground— And go to pieces on the Stones At bottom of my Mind— Yet blamed the Fate that flung it…
286 That after Horror — that ’twas us… That passed the mouldering Pier — Just as the Granite Crumb let go… Our Savior, by a Hair —
A door just opened on a street— I, lost, was passing by— An instant’s width of warmth discl… And wealth, and company. The door as sudden shut, and I,
‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”
XXIV WHETHER my bark went down at se… Whether she met with gales, Whether to isles enchanted She bent her docile sails;
882 A Shade upon the mind there passe… As when on Noon A Cloud the mighty Sun encloses Remembering
695 As if the Sea should part And show a further Sea— And that—a further—and the Three But a presumption be—
The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied
176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?
544 The Martyr Poets’—did not tell’— But wrought their Pang in syllabl… That when their mortal name be num… Their mortal fate’—encourage Some…
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—