#AmericanWriters
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
146 On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair—
292 If your Nerve, deny you— Go above your Nerve— He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve—
A door just opened on a street— I, lost, was passing by— An instant’s width of warmth discl… And wealth, and company. The door as sudden shut, and I,
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—
363 I went to thank Her— But She Slept— Her Bed—a funneled Stone— With Nosegays at the Head and Fo…
30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
This was a Poet —It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings — And Attar so immense From the familiar species
23 I had a guinea golden— I lost it in the sand— And tho’ the sum was simple And pounds were in the land—
573 The Test of Love—is Death— Our Lord—"so loved"—it saith— What Largest Lover—hath Another—doth—
I never hear the word 'escape’ Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude. I never hear of prisons broad
There’s been a death in the opposi… As lately as to-day. I know it by the numb look Such houses have alway. The neighbors rustle in and out,
The Hills in Purple syllables The Day’s Adventures tell To little Groups of Continents Just going Home from School.