#AmericanWriters
1034 His Bill an Auger is, His Head, a Cap and Frill. He laboreth at every Tree A Worm, His utmost Goal.
‘They have not chosen me,’ he said… ‘But I have chosen them!’ Brave’—Broken hearted statement’— Uttered in Bethlehem! I could not have told it,
228 Blazing in Gold and quenching in… Leaping like Leopards to the Sky Then at the feet of the old Horiz… Laying her spotted Face to die
261 Put up my lute! What of—my Music! Since the sole ear I cared to cha… Passive—as Granite—laps My Music…
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,
886 These tested Our Horizon— Then disappeared As Birds before achieving A Latitude.
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
It is an honorable thought, And makes one lift one’s hat, As one encountered gentlefolk Upon a daily street, That we’ve immortal place,
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
The earth has many keys, Where melody is not Is the unknown peninsula. Beauty is nature’s fact. But witness for her land,
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
200 I stole them from a Bee— Because—Thee— Sweet plea— He pardoned me!
