#AmericanWriters
A little East of Jordan, Evangelists record, A Gymnast and an Angel Did wrestle long and hard— Till morning touching mountain—
396 There is a Languor of the Life More imminent than Pain— ’Tis Pain’s Successor—When the S… Has suffered all it can—
After great pain a formal feeling… The nerves sit ceremonious like to… The stiff Heart questions—was it… And yesterday—or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round
271 A solemn thing—it was—I said— A woman—white—to be— And wear—if God should count me f… Her blameless mystery—
91 So bashful when I spied her! So pretty—so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find—
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,
229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near
798 She staked her Feathers—Gained an… Debated—Rose again— This time—beyond the estimate Of Envy, or of Men—
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
XLIII I LIKE to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step
931 Noon—is the Hinge of Day— Evening—the Tissue Door— Morning—the East compelling the s… Till all the World is ajar—
