#AmericanWriters
100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Yesterday is History, ’Tis so far away - Yesterday is Poetry - ’Tis Philosophy - Yesterday is mystery -
To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise
459 A Tooth upon Our Peace The Peace cannot deface— Then Wherefore be the Tooth? To vitalize the Grace—
LXXXVI A LADY red upon the hill Her annual secret keeps; A lady white within the field In placid lily sleeps!
496 As far from pity, as complaint— As cool to speech—as stone— As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone—
150 She died—this was the way she died… And when her breath was done Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun—
964 “Unto Me?” I do not know you— Where may be your House? “I am Jesus—Late of Judea— Now—of Paradise”—
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes—
512 The Soul has Bandaged moments— When too appalled to stir— She feels some ghastly Fright com… And stop to look at her—
132 I bring an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching Next to mine, And summon them to drink;
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!