#AmericanWriters
Proud of my broken heart, since th… Proud of the pain, I did not feel… Proud of my night, since thou, wit… Not to partake thy passion, –my hu… Thou can’st not boast, like Jesus…
798 She staked her Feathers—Gained an… Debated—Rose again— This time—beyond the estimate Of Envy, or of Men—
275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
826 Love reckons by itself—alone— “As large as I”—relate the Sun To One who never felt it blaze— Itself is all the like it has—
830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
399 A House upon the Height— That Wagon never reached— No Dead, were ever carried down— No Peddler’s Cart—approached—
454 It was given to me by the Gods— When I was a little Girl— They given us Presents most—you k… When we are new—and small.
723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—
153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”
463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy
985 The Missing All’—prevented Me From missing minor Things. If nothing larger than a World’s Departure from a Hinge’—
329 So glad we are’—a Stranger’d deem ’Twas sorry, that we were’— For where the Holiday should be There publishes a Tear’—
545 ’Tis One by One—the Father count… And then a Tract between Set Cypherless—to teach the Eye The Value of its Ten—