#AmericanWriters
965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—
132 I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching Next to mine, And summon them to drink;
64 Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair… Some Vision of the World Cashmer… I confidently see! Or else a Peacock’s purple Train
1100 The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—
347 When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair—
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.
63 If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise,
444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—
903 I hide myself within my flower, That fading from your Vase, You, unsuspecting, feel for me— Almost a loneliness.
980 Purple—is fashionable twice— This season of the year, And when a soul perceives itself To be an Emperor.
God permit industrious angels Afternoons to play. I met one,—forgot my school-mates, All, for him, straightaway. God calls home the angels promptly
765 You constituted Time— I deemed Eternity A Revelation of Yourself— ’Twas therefore Deity
340 Is Bliss then, such Abyss, I must not put my foot amiss For fear I spoil my shoe? I’d rather suit my foot