#AmericanWriters
Part One: Life XXXV I CAN wade grief, Whole pools of it,— I ’m used to that.
152 The Sun kept stooping—stooping—lo… The Hills to meet him rose! On his side, what Transaction! On their side, what Repose!
403 The Winters are so short— I’m hardly justified In sending all the Birds away— And moving into Pod—
148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.
956 What shall I do when the Summer t… What, when the Rose is ripe— What when the Eggs fly off in Mus… From the Maple Keep?
767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine
862 Light is sufficient to itself— If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours in the Day.
480 “Why do I love” You, Sir? Because— The Wind does not require the Gra… To answer—Wherefore when He pass
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
351 I felt my life with both my hands To see if it was there— I held my spirit to the Glass, To prove it possibler—
Years I had been from home, And now, before the door I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
63 If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise,
We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,
815 The Luxury to apprehend The Luxury 'twould be To look at Thee a single time An Epicure of Me
