#AmericanWriters
477 No Man can compass a Despair— As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed—
Tell all the truth but tell it sla… Success in circuit lies, Too bright for our infirm delight The truth’s superb surprise; As lightning to the children eased
821 Away from Home are some and I— An Emigrant to be In a Metropolis of Homes Is easy, possibly—
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…
501 This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond— Invisible, as Music— But positive, as Sound—
694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—
885 Our little Kinsmen’—after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon.
767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine
758 These’—saw Visions’— Latch them softly’— These’—held Dimples’— Smooth them slow’—
348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—
A Coffin—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave—is a restricted Breadth—
A toad can die of light! Death is the common right Of toads and men,— Of earl and midge The privilege.
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
305 The difference between Despair And Fear—is like the One Between the instant of a Wreck And when the Wreck has been—
Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,