#AmericanWriters
Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie The Day that a Companion came Or was obliged to die
139 Soul, Wilt thou toss again? By just such a hazard Hundreds have lost indeed— But tens have won an all—
Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -
406 Some’—Work for Immortality’— The Chiefer part, for Time’— He’—Compensates’—immediately’— The former’—Checks’—on Fame’—
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn't hurt— It's only fainter—by degrees— And then—it's out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
154 Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels—lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.
8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables
I am afraid to own a Body - I am afraid to own a Soul - Profound– precarious Property – Possession, not optional - Double Estate - entailed at plea…
522 Had I presumed to hope— The loss had been to Me A Value—for the Greatness’ Sake— As Giants—gone away—
545 ’Tis One by One—the Father count… And then a Tract between Set Cypherless—to teach the Eye The Value of its Ten—
Tie the strings to my life, my Lo… Then I am ready to go! Just a look at the horses— Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side,
‘Heavenly Father’ - take to thee The supreme iniquity Fashioned by thy candid Hand In a moment contraband - Though to trust us - seems to us
There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
367 Over and over, like a Tune— The Recollection plays— Drums off the Phantom Battlements Cornets of Paradise—