#AmericanWriters
926 Patience’—has a quiet Outer’— Patience’—Look within’— Is an Insect’s futile forces Infinites’—between’—
A light exists in spring Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here A color stands abroad
382 For Death—or rather For the Things 'twould buy— This—put away Life’s Opportunity—
232 The Sun’—just touched the Morning… The Morning’—Happy thing’— Supposed that He had come to dwel… And Life would all be Spring!
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.
493 The World—stands—solemner—to me— Since I was wed—to Him— A modesty befits the soul That bears another’s—name—
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—
951 As Frost is best conceived By force of its Result— Affliction is inferred By subsequent effect—
234 You’re right—“the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”—
Yesterday is History, ’Tis so far away - Yesterday is Poetry - ’Tis Philosophy - Yesterday is mystery -
708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—
957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—
458 Like eyes that looked on Wastes— Incredulous of Ought But Blank—and steady Wilderness— Diversified by Night—
736 Have any like Myself Investigating March, New Houses on the Hill descried— And possibly a Church—