#AmericanWriters
Good night! which put the candle o… A jealous zephyr, not a doubt. Ah! friend, you little knew How long at that celestial wick The angels labored diligent;
There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
662 Embarrassment of one another And God Is Revelation’s limit, Aloud
22 All these my banners be. I sow my pageantry In May— It rises train by train—
955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.
LXXXIII This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond — Invisible, as Music — But positive, as Sound —
413 I never felt at Home–Below– And in the Handsome Skies I shall not feel at Home–I know– I don’t like Paradise–
375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—
844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,
515 No Crowd that has occurred Exhibit—I suppose That General Attendance That Resurrection—does—
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin,
252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy
673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!