#AmericanWriters
1000 The Fingers of the Light Tapped soft upon the Town With “I am great and cannot wait So therefore let me in.”
Nature rarer uses Yellow Than another Hue. Saves she all of that for Sunsets Prodigal of Blue Spending Scarlet, like a Woman
993 We miss Her, not because We see— The Absence of an Eye— Except its Mind accompany Abridge Society
He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance
A chilly Peace infests the Grass The Sun respectful lies - Not any Trance of industry These shadows scrutinize - Whose Allies go no more astray
253 You see I cannot see—your lifetim… I must guess— How many times it ache for me—toda… How many times for my far sake
669 No Romance sold unto Could so enthrall a Man As the perusal of His Individual One—
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
492 Civilization—spurns—the Leopard! Was the Leopard—bold? Deserts—never rebuked her Satin— Ethiop—her Gold—
It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,
264 A Weight with Needles on the poun… To push, and pierce, besides— That if the Flesh resist the Heft… The puncture—coolly tries—
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.