#AmericanWriters
271 A solemn thing—it was—I said— A woman—white—to be— And wear—if God should count me f… Her blameless mystery—
Escape is such a thankful Word I often in the Night Consider it unto myself No spectacle in sight Escape - it is the Basket
467 We do not play on Graves— Because there isn’t Room— Besides—it isn’t even—it slants And People come—
CXI A DOOR just opened on a street— I, lost, was passing by— An instant’s width of warmth discl… And wealth, and company.
So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole
We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,
859 A doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
132 I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching Next to mine, And summon them to drink;
301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?
793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—
963 A nearness to Tremendousness— An Agony procures— Affliction ranges Boundlessness— Vicinity to Laws
Some keep the Sabbath going to Ch… I keep it, staying at Home— With a Bobolink for a Chorister— And an Orchard, for a Dome— Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice…
980 Purple—is fashionable twice— This season of the year, And when a soul perceives itself To be an Emperor.
482 We Cover Thee—Sweet Face— Not that We tire of Thee— But that Thyself fatigue of Us— Remember—as Thou go—