#AmericanWriters
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
XXXIV NATURE is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon— Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee… Nay—Nature is Heaven.
256 If I’m lost—now That I was found— Shall still my transport be— That once—on me—those Jasper Gate…
624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
These—saw Visions— Latch them softly— These—held Dimples— Smooth them slow— This—addressed departing accents—
XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.
LXVI WHEN I hoped I feared, Since I hoped I dared; Everywhere alone As a church remain;
523 Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered Every time—for Two— So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You—
There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—
276 Many a phrase has the English lan… I have heard but one— Low as the laughter of the Cricke… Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue—
852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.
A little East of Jordan, Evangelists record, A Gymnast and an Angel Did wrestle long and hard— Till morning touching mountain—
785 They have a little Odor—that to m… Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—
