#AmericanWriters
623 It was too late for Man— But early, yet, for God— Creation—impotent to help— But Prayer—remained—Our Side—
The Hills in Purple syllables The Day’s Adventures tell To little Groups of Continents Just going Home from School.
542 I had no Cause to be awake— My Best—was gone to sleep— And Morn a new politeness took— And failed to wake them up—
The Hills erect their Purple Hea… The Rivers lean to see Yet Man has not of all the Throng A Curiosity.
I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet now I know how the heather lo… And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God,
It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,
732 She rose to His Requirement—dropt The Playthings of Her Life To take the honorable Work Of Woman, and of Wife—
23 I had a guinea golden— I lost it in the sand— And tho’ the sum was simple And pounds were in the land—
590 Did you ever stand in a Cavern’s… Widths out of the Sun— And look—and shudder, and block yo… And deem to be alone
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
Departed to the judgment, A mighty afternoon; Great clouds like ushers leaning, Creation looking on. The flesh surrendered, cancelled
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
598 Three times—we parted—Breath—and… Three times—He would not go— But strove to stir the lifeless F… The Waters—strove to stay.