#AmericanWriters
990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—
134 Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower… But I could never sell— If you would like to borrow, Until the Daffodil
784 Bereaved of all, I went abroad— No less bereaved was I Upon a New Peninsula— The Grave preceded me—
632 The Brain—is wider than the Sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will contain With ease—and You—beside—
456 So well that I can live without— I love thee—then How well is that… As well as Jesus? Prove it me
There is no Silence in the Earth… As that endured Which uttered, would discourage N… And haunt the World.
The Savior must have been A docile Gentleman— To come so far so cold a Day For little Fellowmen— The Road to Bethlehem
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
820 All Circumstances are the Frame In which His Face is set— All Latitudes exist for His Sufficient Continent—
111 The Bee is not afraid of me. I know the Butterfly. The pretty people in the Woods Receive me cordially—
887 We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer— Till it an Antique fashion shows— Like Costumes Grandsires wore.
346 Not probable—The barest Chance— A smile too few—a word too much And far from Heaven as the Rest— The Soul so close on Paradise—
281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…
477 No Man can compass a Despair— As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed—
463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy