#AmericanWriters
A Word dropped careless on a Page May stimulate an eye When folded in perpetual seam The Wrinkled Maker lie Infection in the sentence breeds
165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!
XLVII HEART, we will forget him! You and I, to—night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.
81 We should not mind so small a flow… Except it quiet bring Our little garden that we lost Back to the Lawn again.
78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—
This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…
372 I know lives, I could miss Without a Misery— Others—whose instant’s wanting— Would be Eternity—
834 Before He comes we weigh the Time… ’Tis Heavy and ’tis Light. When He depart, an Emptiness Is the prevailing Freight.
The spry Arms of the Wind If I could crawl between I have an errand imminent To an adjoining Zone - I should not care to stop
Declaiming Waters none may dread… But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature– they are full –
124 In lands I never saw—they say Immortal Alps look down— Whose Bonnets touch the firmament… Whose Sandals touch the town—
Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—
742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—
865 He outstripped Time with but a Bo… He outstripped Stars and Sun And then, unjaded, challenged God In presence of the Throne.
464 The power to be true to You, Until upon my face The Judgment push his Picture— Presumptuous of Your Place—