#AmericanWriters
456 So well that I can live without— I love thee—then How well is that… As well as Jesus? Prove it me
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—
296 One Year ago’—jots what? God’—spell the word! I’—can’t’— Was’t Grace? Not that’— Was’t Glory? That’—will do’—
594 The Battle fought between the Sou… And No Man—is the One Of all the Battles prevalent— By far the Greater One—
192 Poor little Heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little Heart!
883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light
156 You love me—you are sure— I shall not fear mistake— I shall not cheated wake— Some grinning morn—
444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—
673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…
521 Endow the Living—with the Tears— You squander on the Dead, And They were Men and Women—now, Around Your Fireside—
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
A drop fell on the apple tree Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,
910 Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By—Paradox—the Mind itself— Presuming it to lead
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.