#AmericanWriters
644 You left me—Sire—two Legacies— A Legacy of Love A Heavenly Father would suffice Had He the offer of—
379 Rehearsal to Ourselves Of a Withdrawn Delight— Affords a Bliss like Murder— Omnipotent—Acute—
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
787 Such is the Force of Happiness— The Least—can lift a Ton Assisted by its stimulus— Who Misery—sustain—
270 One Life of so much Consequence! Yet I—for it—would pay— My Soul’s entire income— In ceaseless—salary—
920 We can but follow to the Sun— As oft as He go down He leave Ourselves a Sphere behin… ’Tis mostly—following—
855 To own the Art within the Soul The Soul to entertain With Silence as a Company And Festival maintain
86 South Winds jostle them— Bumblebees come— Hover—hesitate— Dri nk, and are gone—
Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
41 I robbed the Woods— The trusting Woods. The unsuspecting Trees Brought out their Burs and mosses
359 I gained it so— By Climbing slow— By Catching at the Twigs that gro… Between the Bliss—and me—
27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—
573 The Test of Love—is Death— Our Lord—"so loved"—it saith— What Largest Lover—hath Another—doth—