#AmericanWriters
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day
455 Triumph—may be of several kinds— There’s Triumph in the Room When that Old Imperator—Death— By Faith
482 We Cover Thee—Sweet Face— Not that We tire of Thee— But that Thyself fatigue of Us— Remember—as Thou go—
198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.
100 A science—so the Savants say, “Comparative Anatomy”— By which a single bone— Is made a secret to unfold
323 As if I asked a common Alms, And in my wondering hand A Stranger pressed a Kingdom, And I, bewildered, stand—
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
625 ’Twas a long Parting—but the time For Interview—had Come— Before the Judgment Seat of God— The last—and second time
792 Through the strait pass of sufferi… The Martyrs—even—trod. Their feet—upon Temptations— Their faces—upon God—
908 ’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast T… No Station in the Day? ’Twas not thy wont, to hinder so— Retrieve thine industry—
530 You cannot put a Fire out— A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan— Upon the slowest Night—
490 To One denied the drink To tell what Water is Would be acuter, would it not Than letting Him surmise?
I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since
587 Empty my Heart, of Thee— Its single Artery— Begin, and leave Thee out— Simply Extinction’s Date—