#AmericanWriters
301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
276 Many a phrase has the English lan… I have heard but one— Low as the laughter of the Cricke… Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue—
157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—
27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.
A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in
477 No Man can compass a Despair— As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed—
516 Beauty—be not caused—It Is— Chase it, and it ceases— Chase it not, and it abides— Overtake the Creases
342 It will be Summer—eventually. Ladies—with parasols— Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes— And little Girls—with Dolls—
704 672 No matter—now—Sweet— But when I’m Earl— Won’t you wish you’d spoken
LXII A DROP fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh.
XXXIII DARE you see a soul at the white… Then crouch within the door. Red is the fire’s common tint; But when the vivid ore
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
771 None can experience sting Who Bounty—have not known— The fact of Famine—could not be Except for Fact of Corn—