#AmericanWriters
XV I know some lonely houses off the… A robber ’d like the look of,— Wooden barred, And windows hanging low,
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
XXXVIII THROUGH the straight pass of su… The martyrs even trod, Their feet upon temptation, Their faces upon God.
504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
639 My Portion is Defeat—today— A paler luck than Victory— Less Paeans—fewer Bells— The Drums don’t follow Me—with tu…
38 By such and such an offering To Mr. So and So, The web of live woven— So martyrs albums show!
XIV SOME things that fly there be,— Birds, hours, the bumble-bee: Of these no elegy. Some things that stay there be,—
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
900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness
599 There is a pain’—so utter’— It swallows substance up’— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!
401 What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush… Or violate a Star—
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
