#AmericanWriters
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
90 Within my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered thro’ the village—
985 The Missing All’—prevented Me From missing minor Things. If nothing larger than a World’s Departure from a Hinge’—
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
LIX I TOOK my power in my hand And went against the world; ’T was not so much as David had, But I was twice as bold.
367 Over and over, like a Tune— The Recollection plays— Drums off the Phantom Battlements Cornets of Paradise—
379 Rehearsal to Ourselves Of a Withdrawn Delight— Affords a Bliss like Murder— Omnipotent—Acute—
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
501 This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond— Invisible, as Music— But positive, as Sound—
940 On that dear Frame the Years had… Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Lig… The Witnessing, to Us—
285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—
“Houses”'—so the Wise Men tell me… Houses—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!
This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed
895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me
