#AmericanWriters
648 Promise This—When You be Dying— Some shall summon Me— Mine belong Your latest Sighing— Mine—to Belt Your Eye—
924 Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself—
High from the earth I heard a bir… He trod upon the trees As he esteemed them trifles, And then he spied a breeze, And situated softly
XLIX WE outgrow love like other things And put it in the drawer, Till it an antique fashion shows Like costumes grandsires wore.
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
367 Over and over, like a Tune— The Recollection plays— Drums off the Phantom Battlements Cornets of Paradise—
Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables
LXIII Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair.
247 What would I give to see his face… I’d give—I’d give my life—of cour… But that is not enough! Stop just a minute—let me think!
266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!
433 Knows how to forget! But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
426 It don't sound so terrible—quite—a… I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "De… Put it in Latin—left of my school… Seems it don't shriek so—under rul…