#AmericanWriters
696 Their Height in Heaven comforts n… Their Glory—nought to me— ’Twas best imperfect—as it was— I’m finite—I can’t see—
853 When One has given up One’s life The parting with the rest Feels easy, as when Day lets go Entirely the West
862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.
The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery
XVIII READ, sweet, how others strove, Till we are stouter; What they renounced, Till we are less afraid;
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,
If I can stop one heart from brea… I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching… Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin
865 He outstripped Time with but a Bo… He outstripped Stars and Sun And then, unjaded, challenged God In presence of the Throne.
301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?
998 Best Things dwell out of Sight The Pearl—the Just—Our Thought. Most shun the Public Air Legitimate, and Rare—
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?
Me! Come! My dazzled face In such a shining place! Me! Hear! My foreign ear The sounds of welcome near! The saints shall meet