#AmericanWriters
How firm Eternity must look To crumbling men like me The only Adamant Estate In all Identity - How mighty to the insecure
Lightly stepped a yellow star To its lofty place - Loosed the Moon her silver hat From her lustral Face - All of Evening softly lit
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery
774 It is a lonesome Glee— Yet sanctifies the Mind— With fair association— Afar upon the Wind
Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
Because I could not stop for Deat… He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselv… And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
562 Conjecturing a Climate Of unsuspended Suns— Adds poignancy to Winter— The Shivering Fancy turns
I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…
348 I dreaded that first Robin, so, But He is mastered, now, I’m accustomed to Him grown, He hurts a little, though—
763 He told a homely tale And spotted it with tears— Upon his infant face was set The Cicatrice of years—
XLII SURGEONS must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the culprit,—Life!
614 In falling Timbers buried— There breathed a Man— Outside—the spades—were plying— The Lungs—within—
The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied
292 If your Nerve, deny you— Go above your Nerve— He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve—