#AmericanWriters
There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
To make a prairie it takes a clove… One clover, and a bee. And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
The Road was lit with Moon and st… The Trees were bright and still - Descried I - by the distant Ligh… A Traveller on a Hill - To magic Perpendiculars
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,
509 If anybody’s friend be dead It’s sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive… At such and such a time—
869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid
To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise
Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair. Be its mattress straight,
322 There came a Day at Summer’s full… Entirely for me— I thought that such were for the… Where Resurrections—be—
Water makes many Beds For those averse to sleep - Its awful chamber open stands - Its Curtains blandly sweep - Abhorrent is the Rest
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
‘T was just this time last year I… I know I heard the corn, When I was carried by the farms,— It had the tassels on. I thought how yellow it would look
513 Like Flowers, that heard the news… But never deemed the dripping priz… Awaited their—low Brows— Or Bees—that thought the Summer’s…