#AmericanWriters
403 The Winters are so short— I’m hardly justified In sending all the Birds away— And moving into Pod—
662 Embarrassment of one another And God Is Revelation’s limit, Aloud
428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—
859 A doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
MINE enemy is growing old, I have at last revenge. The palate of the hate departs; If any would avenge, Let him be quick, the viand flits,
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
752 So the Eyes accost’—and sunder In an Audience’— Stamped’—occasionally’—forever’— So may Countenance
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
488 Myself was formed’—a Carpenter’— An unpretending time My Plane’—and I, together wrought Before a Builder came’—
Some keep the Sabbath going to Ch… I keep it, staying at Home— With a Bobolink for a Chorister— And an Orchard, for a Dome— Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice…
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin,
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!