#AmericanWriters
Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -
I see thee better—in the Dark— I do not need a Light— The Love of Thee—a Prism be— Excelling Violet— I see thee better for the Years
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes— I wonder if It weighs like Mine— Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long—
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
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
HE preached upon “breadth” till i… The broad are too broad to define: And of “truth” until it proclaimed… The truth never flaunted a sign. Simplicity fled from his counterfe…
740 You taught me Waiting with Myself… Appointment strictly kept’— You taught me fortitude of Fate’— This’—also’—I have learnt’—
610 You’ll find—it when you try to die… The Easier to let go— For recollecting such as went— You could not spare—you know.
693 Shells from the Coast mistaking— I cherished them for All— Happening in After Ages To entertain a Pearl—
804 No Notice gave She, but a Change… No Message, but a Sigh— For Whom, the Time did not suffic… That She should specify.
681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—
535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!