#AmericanWriters
78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—
765 You constituted Time— I deemed Eternity A Revelation of Yourself— ’Twas therefore Deity
205 I should not dare to leave my frie… Because—because if he should die While I was gone—and I—too late— Should reach the Heart that wante…
757 The Mountains—grow unnoticed— Their Purple figures rise Without attempt—Exhaustion— Assistance—or Applause—
616 I rose—because He sank— I thought it would be opposite— But when his power dropped— My Soul grew straight.
A shady friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind. The vane a little to the east
368 How sick—to wait—in any place—but… I knew last night—when someone tri… Thinking—perhaps—that I looked ti… Or breaking—almost—with unspoken p…
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
974 The Soul’s distinct connection With immortality Is best disclosed by Danger Or quick Calamity—
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
434 To love thee Year by Year— May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease— However, dear,
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken To that dull Girl? Trivial a Word—just—
128 Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, Tell me how far the morning leaps—