#AmericanWriters
The thought beneath so slight a fi… Is more distincly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
464 The power to be true to You, Until upon my face The Judgment push his Picture— Presumptuous of Your Place—
My River runs to thee’— Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply’— Oh Sea’—look graciously’— I’ll fetch thee Brooks
March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
379 Rehearsal to Ourselves Of a Withdrawn Delight— Affords a Bliss like Murder— Omnipotent—Acute—
989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.
347 When Night is almost done— And Sunrise grows so near That we can touch the Spaces— It’s time to smooth the Hair—
138 Pigmy seraphs’—gone astray’— Velvet people from Vevay’— Balles from some lost summer day’— Bees exclusive Coterie’—
188 Make me a picture of the sun— So I can hang it in my room— And make believe I’m getting warm When others call it “Day”!
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
294 The Doomed—regard the Sunrise With different Delight— Because—when next it burns abroad They doubt to witness it—
695 As if the Sea should part And show a further Sea— And that—a further—and the Three But a presumption be—