#AmericanWriters
663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed
Drowning is not so pitiful As the attempt to rise. Three times, 't is said, a sinking… Comes up to face the skies, And then declines forever
807 Expectation—is Contentment— Gain—Satiety— But Satiety—Conviction Of Necessity
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.
We like March, his shoes are purp… He is new and high; Makes he mud for dog and peddler, Makes he forest dry; Knows the adder’s tongue his comin…
Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave… I will forget the light. When you have done pray tell me,
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
884 As Everywhere of Silver With Ropes of Sand To keep it from effacing The Track called Land.
66 So from the mould Scarlet and Gold Many a Bulb will rise— Hidden away, cunningly, From saga…
LVII EXCEPT the heaven had come so n… So seemed to choose my door, The distance would not haunt me so… I had not hoped before.
They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…
THE Brain—is wider than the sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will include With ease—and you—beside— The Brain is deeper than the sea—
660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—