#AmericanWriters
666 Ah, Teneriffe! Retreating Mountain! Purples of Ages—pause for you— Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regim…
974 The Soul’s distinct connection With immortality Is best disclosed by Danger Or quick Calamity—
722 Sweet Mountains—Ye tell me no lie… Never deny Me—Never fly— Those same unvarying Eyes Turn on Me—when I fail—or feign,
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!
257 Delight is as the flight— Or in the Ratio of it, As the Schools would say— The Rainbow’s way—
LXII A DROP fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh.
294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—
897 How fortunate the Grave— All Prizes to obtain— Successful certain, if at last, First Suitor not in vain.
803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—
372 I know lives, I could miss Without a Misery— Others—whose instant’s wanting— Would be Eternity—
I saw the wind within her I knew it blew for me '— But she must buy my shelter I asked Humility
912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.
908 ’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast T… No Station in the Day? ’Twas not thy wont, to hinder so— Retrieve thine industry—