#AmericanWriters
Immured in Heaven! What a Cell! Let every Bondage be, Thou sweetest of the Universe, Like that which ravished thee!
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
291 How the old Mountains drip with S… How the Hemlocks burn— How the Dun Brake is draped in C… By the Wizard Sun—
Had we our senses But perhaps ’tis well they’re not… So intimate with Madness He’s liable with them Had we the eyes without our Head—
358 If any sink, assure that this, now… Failed like Themselves—and consci… Grew by the Fact, and not the Und… How Weakness passed—or Force—aros…
601 A still—Volcano—Life— That flickered in the night— When it was dark enough to do Without erasing sight—
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
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—
990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—
78 A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart… That sat it down to rest— Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day Flowed silver to the West—
705 Suspense—is Hostiler than Death— Death—tho’soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increas… Suspense—does not conclude –
789 On a Columnar Self— How ample to rely In Tumult—or Extremity— How good the Certainty
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
32 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun—
I had not minded—Walls— Were Universe—one Rock— And far I heard his silver Call The other side the Block— I’d tunnel—till my Groove