#AmericanWriters
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
209 With thee, in the Desert— With thee in the thirst— With thee in the Tamarind wood— Leopard breathes—at last!
899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.
616 I rose—because He sank— I thought it would be opposite— But when his power dropped— My Soul grew straight.
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
A clock stopped—not the mantel’s Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing That just now dangled still. An awe came on the trinket!
I noticed People disappeared When but a little child - Supposed they visited remote Or settled Regions wild - But did because they died
8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables
757 The Mountains—grow unnoticed— Their Purple figures rise Without attempt—Exhaustion— Assistance—or Applause—
800 Two—were immortal twice— The privilege of few— Eternity—obtained—in Time— Reversed Divinity’—
117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.
553 One Crucifixion is recorded’—only… How many be Is not affirmed of Mathematics’— Or History’—
314 Nature—sometimes sears a Sapling— Sometimes—scalps a Tree— Her Green People recollect it When they do not die—
The butterfly obtains But little sympathy Though favorably mentioned In Entomology - Because he travels freely