#AmericanWriters
It dropped so low—in my Regard— I heard it hit the Ground— And go to pieces on the Stones At bottom of my Mind— Yet blamed the Fate that flung it…
MINE enemy is growing old, I have at last revenge. The palate of the hate departs; If any would avenge, Let him be quick, the viand flits,
39 It did not surprise me— So I said—or thought— She will stir her pinions And the nest forgot,
472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—
345 Funny’—to be a Century’— And see the People’—going by’— I’—should die of the Oddity’— But then’—I’m not so staid’—as He…
He ate and drank the precious Wor… His Spirit grew robust— He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust— He danced along the dingy Days
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky— A little purple—slipped between—
729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—
534 We see—Comparatively— The Thing so towering high We could not grasp its segment Unaided—Yesterday—
716 The Day undressed—Herself— Her Garter—was of Gold— Her Petticoat—of Purple plain— Her Dimities—as old
487 You love the Lord’—you cannot see… You write Him’—every day’— A little note’—when you awake’— And further in the Day.
294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
169 In Ebon Box, when years have flow… To reverently peer, Wiping away the velvet dust Summers have sprinkled there!
