#AmericanWriters
814 One Day is there of the Series Termed Thanksgiving Day. Celebrated part at Table Part in Memory.
714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—
652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes—
Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—
1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.
363 I went to thank Her— But She Slept— Her Bed—a funneled Stone— With Nosegays at the Head and Fo…
388 Take your Heaven further on— This—to Heaven divine Has gone— Had You earlier blundered in Possibly, e’en You had seen
If you were coming in the fall, I’d brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spum, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year,
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
XL I NEVER lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod; Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!
924 Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself—
827 The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see—
515 No Crowd that has occurred Exhibit—I suppose That General Attendance That Resurrection—does—
589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—
983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.