#AmericanWriters
Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,
Lives he in any other world My faith cannot reply Before it was imperative ’Twas all distinct to me -
716 The Day undressed—Herself— Her Garter—was of Gold— Her Petticoat—of Purple plain— Her Dimities—as old
There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
VIII A wounded deer leaps highest, I ’ve heard the hunter tell; ’T is but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still.
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
I found the phrase to every though… I ever had, but one; And that defies me,—as a hand Did try to chalk the sun To races nurtured in the dark;—
II OUR share of night to bear, Our share of morning, Our blank in bliss to fill, Our blank in scorning.
SUCCESS is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host
183 I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim… In a Cathedral Aisle, And understood no word it said— Yet held my breath, the while—
697 I could bring You Jewels—had I a… But You have enough—of those— I could bring You Odors from St.… Colors—from Vera Cruz—
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!
XIII THE soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
386 Answer July— Where is the Bee— Where is the Blush— Where is the Hay?