#AmericanWriters
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
A Route of Evanescence With a revolving Wheel— A Resonance of Emerald— A Rush of Cochineal— And every Blossom on the Bush
THE Brain—is wider than the sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will include With ease—and you—beside— The Brain is deeper than the sea—
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by! From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory! From marshallings as simple
555 Trust in the Unexpected— By this—was William Kidd Persuaded of the Buried Gold— As One had testified—
155 The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft—yieldeth me— If any ask me why— ’Twere easier to die—
A clock stopped—not the mantel’s Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing That just now dangled still. An awe came on the trinket!
117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.
551 There is a Shame of Nobleness— Confronting Sudden Pelf— A finer Shame of Ecstasy— Convicted of Itself—
The Butterfly in honored Dust Assuredly will lie But none will pass the Catacomb So chastened as the Fly -
677 To be alive’—is Power’— Existence’—in itself’— Without a further function’— Omnipotence’—Enough’—
God permit industrious angels Afternoons to play. I met one,—forgot my school-mates, All, for him, straightaway. God calls home the angels promptly
You said that I “was Great”'—one… Then “Great” it be’—if that pleas… Or Small’—or any size at all’— Nay’—I’m the size suit Thee’— Tall’—like the Stag’—would that?
LXXXIII This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond — Invisible, as Music — But positive, as Sound —