#AmericanWriters
349 I had the Glory—that will do— An Honor, Thought can turn her to When lesser Fames invite— With one long “Nay”—
850 I sing to use the Waiting My Bonnet but to tie And shut the Door unto my House No more to do have I
171 Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now!
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
71 A throe upon the features— A hurry in the breath— An ecstasy of parting Denominated “Death”—
The Grass so little has to do ' A Sphere of simple Green ' With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain ' And stir all day to pretty Tunes
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—
As from the earth the light Ballo… Asks nothing but release - Ascension that for which it was, Its soaring Residence. The spirit looks upon the Dust
I had been hungry all the years– My noon had come, to dine– I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. ‘T was this on tables I had seen
705 Suspense—is Hostiler than Death— Death—tho’soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increas… Suspense—does not conclude –
33 If recollecting were forgetting, Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot.
An everywhere of silver, With ropes of sand To keep it from effacing The track called land.
900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness
410 The first Day’s Night had come— And grateful that a thing So terrible—had been endured— I told my Soul to sing—
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!