#AmericanWriters
After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—
233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…
816 A Death blow is a Life blow to S… Who till they died, did not alive… Who had they lived, had died but w… They died, Vitality begun.
Me prove it now —Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it —now — Make haste —the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity — The River reaches to my feet —
The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day
778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—
730 Defrauded I a Butterfly— The lawful Heir—for Thee—
XXXVIII THROUGH the straight pass of su… The martyrs even trod, Their feet upon temptation, Their faces upon God.
353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—
743 The Birds reported from the South… A News express to Me— A spicy Charge, My little Posts— But I am deaf—Today—
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy
866 Fame is the tine that Scholars le… Upon their Setting Names— The Iris not of Occident That disappears as comes—