#AmericanWriters
XCIX THERE is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry.
372 I know lives, I could miss Without a Misery— Others—whose instant’s wanting— Would be Eternity—
599 There is a pain—so utter— It swallows substance up— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
I’m saying every day “If I should be a Queen, tomorrow… I’d do this way — And so I deck, a little, If it be, I wake a Bourbon,
184 A transport one cannot contain May yet a transport be— Though God forbid it lift the lid… Unto its Ecstasy!
806 A Planted Life—diversified With Gold and Silver Pain To prove the presence of the Ore In Particles—'tis when
349 I had the Glory—that will do— An Honor, Thought can turn her to When lesser Fames invite— With one long “Nay”—
787 Such is the Force of Happiness— The Least—can lift a Ton Assisted by its stimulus— Who Misery—sustain—
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bell… Put out their tongues, for noon. It was not frost, for on my flesh
433 Knows how to forget! But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how
1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.
How slow the Wind - how slow the sea - how late their Fathers be!
966 All forgot for recollecting Just a paltry One— All forsook, for just a Stranger’… New Accompanying—
Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
