#AmericanWriters
65 I can’t tell you—but you feel it— Nor can you tell me— Saints, with ravished slate and pe… Solve our April Day!
873 Ribbons of the Year— Multitude Brocade— Worn to Nature’s Party once Then, as flung aside
We don’t cry—Tim and I, We are far too grand— But we bolt the door tight To prevent a friend— Then we hide our brave face
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—
627 The Tint I cannot take—is best— The Color too remote That I could show it in Bazaar— A Guinea at a sight—
853 When One has given up One’s life The parting with the rest Feels easy, as when Day lets go Entirely the West
818 I could not drink it, Sweet, Till You had tasted first, Though cooler than the Water was The Thoughtfullness of Thirst.
492 Civilization—spurns—the Leopard! Was the Leopard—bold? Deserts—never rebuked her Satin— Ethiop—her Gold—
A shady friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind. The vane a little to the east
678 Wolfe demanded during dying “Which obtain the Day”? “General, the British”—"Easy” Answered Wolfe “to die”
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—
A little East of Jordan, Evangelists record, A Gymnast and an Angel Did wrestle long and hard— Till morning touching mountain—
385 Smiling back from Coronation May be Luxury— On the Heads that started with us… Being’s Peasantry—
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”