#AmericanWriters
239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!
I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come,
A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,
424 Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days— Myself had just to earn—
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
As from the earth the light Ballo… Asks nothing but release - Ascension that for which it was, Its soaring Residence. The spirit looks upon the Dust
450 Dreams—are well—but Waking’s bett… If One wake at morn— If One wake at Midnight—better— Dreaming—of the Dawn—
442 God made a little Gentian— It tried—to be a Rose— And failed—and all the Summer lau… But just before the Snows
517 He parts Himself’—like Leaves’— And then’—He closes up’— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup’—
250 I shall keep singing! Birds will pass me On their way to Yellower Climes— Each—with a Robin’s expectation—
881 I’ve none to tell me to but Thee So when Thou failest, nobody. It was a little tie— It just held Two, nor those it he…
So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go
30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
Elysium is as far as to The very nearest Room If in that Room a Friend await Felicity or Doom— What fortitude the Soul contains
806 A Planted Life—diversified With Gold and Silver Pain To prove the presence of the Ore In Particles—'tis when
