#AmericanWriters
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
’Twas Crisis—All the length had p… That dull—benumbing time There is in Fever or Event— And now the Chance had come— The instant holding in its claw
651 So much Summer Me for showing Illegitimate— Would a Smile’s minute bestowing
Growth of Man—like Growth of Nat… Gravitates within— Atmosphere, and Sun endorse it— Bit it stir—alone— Each—its difficult Ideal
467 We do not play on Graves— Because there isn’t Room— Besides—it isn’t even—it slants And People come—
979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—
751 My Worthiness is all my Doubt— His Merit—all my fear— Contrasting which, my quality Do lowlier—appear—
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—
590 Did you ever stand in a Cavern’s… Widths out of the Sun— And look—and shudder, and block yo… And deem to be alone
A narrow fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not, His notice sudden is. The grass divides as with a comb,
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning— and untouched by noon— Sleep the meek members of the Res… Rafter of Satin and Roof of Ston…
Not with a club, the Heart is bro… Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see… I’ve known To lash the magic creature
XV I know some lonely houses off the… A robber ’d like the look of,— Wooden barred, And windows hanging low,