#AmericanWriters
659 That first Day, when you praised… And said that I was strong— And could be mighty, if I liked— That Day—the Days among—
I taste a liquor never brewed, From tankards scooped in pearl; Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol! Inebriate of air am I,
882 A Shade upon the mind there passe… As when on Noon A Cloud the mighty Sun encloses Remembering
736 Have any like Myself Investigating March, New Houses on the Hill descried— And possibly a Church—
978 It bloomed and dropt, a Single No… The Flower—distinct and Red— I, passing, thought another Noon Another in its stead
981 As Sleigh Bells seem in summer Or Bees, at Christmas show— So fairy—so fictitious The individuals do
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,
616 I rose—because He sank— I thought it would be opposite— But when his power dropped— My Soul grew straight.
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—
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -
Pain—has an Element of Blank— It cannot recollect When it begun—or if there were A time when it was not— It has no Future—but itself—
783 The Birds begun at Four o’clock— Their period for Dawn— A Music numerous as space— But neighboring as Noon—
895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me
Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—