#AmericanWriters
444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—
718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
XL THE thought beneath so slight a f… Is more distinctly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.
898 How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
844 Spring is the Period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide,
Some keep the Sabbath going to Ch… I keep it, staying at Home— With a Bobolink for a Chorister— And an Orchard, for a Dome— Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice…
690 Victory comes late— And is held low to freezing lips— Too rapt with frost To take it—
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry....
High from the earth I heard a bir… He trod upon the trees As he esteemed them trifles, And then he spied a breeze, And situated softly
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
Whether they have forgotten Or are forgetting now Or never remembered - Safer not to know - Miseries of conjecture