#AmericanWriters
789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty
387 The sweetest Heresy received That Man and Woman know— Each Other’s Convert— Though the Faith accommodate but…
87 A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—
793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—
Are Friends Delight or Pain? Could Bounty but remain Riches were good - But if they only stay Ampler to fly away
158 Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?
773 Deprived of other Banquet, I entertained Myself— At first—a scant nutrition— An insufficient Loaf—
1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—
54 If I should die, And you should live— And time should gurgle on— And morn should beam—
I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me. And frigates in the upper floor
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!
312 Her—last Poems— Poets ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled Other,
529 I’m sorry for the Dead—Today— It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences— It’s time o’ year for Hay.