#AmericanWriters
The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,
XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
888 When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House— And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place—
733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—
878 The Sun is gay or stark According to our Deed. If Merry, He is merrier— If eager for the Dead
127 “Houses”—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!
God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me; I dare not eat it, though I starv… My poignant luxury To own it, touch it, prove the fea…
117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.
Shall I take thee, the Poet said To the propounded word? Be stationed with the Candidates Till I have finer tried— The Poet searched Philology
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.
The brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ‘T were easier for you To put the water back
Pink, small, and punctual, Aromatic, low, Covert in April, Candid in May, Dear to the moss,
938 Fairer through Fading—as the Day Into the Darkness dips away— Half Her Complexion of the Sun— Hindering—Haunting—Perishing—
1100 The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different
1540 As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away— Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy—