#AmericanWriters
719 A South Wind—has a pathos Of individual Voice— As One detect on Landings An Emigrant’s address.
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
843 I made slow Riches but my Gain Was steady as the Sun And every Night, it numbered more Than the preceding One
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
974 The Soul’s distinct connection With immortality Is best disclosed by Danger Or quick Calamity—
220 Could I—then—shut the door— Lest my beseeching face—at last— Rejected—be—of Her?
A Word dropped careless on a Page May stimulate an eye When folded in perpetual seam The Wrinkled Maker lie Infection in the sentence breeds
The wind tapped like a tired man, And like a host, ‘Come in,’ I boldly answered; entered then My residence within A rapid, footless guest,
606 The Trees like Tassels—hit—and sw… There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures Accompanying the Sun—
235 The Court is far away— No Umpire—have I— My Sovereign is offended— To gain his grace—I’d die!
Immured in Heaven! What a Cell! Let every Bondage be, Thou sweetest of the Universe, Like that which ravished thee!
FORBIDDEN fruit a flavor has That lawful orchards mocks; How luscious lies the pea within The pod that Duty locks!
222 When Katie walks, this simple pai… When Katie runs unwearied they fo… When Katie kneels, their loving h… Ah! Katie! Smile at Fortune, wit…