#AmericanWriters
705 Suspense—is Hostiler than Death— Death—tho’soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increas… Suspense—does not conclude –
702 A first Mute Coming— In the Stranger’s House— A first fair Going— When the Bells rejoice—
805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—
He ate and drank the precious Wor… His Spirit grew robust— He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust— He danced along the dingy Days
Proud of my broken heart, since th… Proud of the pain, I did not feel… Proud of my night, since thou, wit… Not to partake thy passion, –my hu… Thou can’st not boast, like Jesus…
749 All but Death, can be Adjusted— Dynasties repaired— Systems—settled in their Sockets— Citadels—dissolved—
171 Wait till the Majesty of Death Invests so mean a brow! Almost a powdered Footman Might dare to touch it now!
XXIX THE nearest dream recedes, unreal… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school—boy
275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—
Let me not mar that perfect Dream By an Auroral stain But so adjust my daily Night That it will come again. Not when we know, the Power accos…
353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—
The Grass so little has to do ' A Sphere of simple Green ' With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain ' And stir all day to pretty Tunes
The spider holds a Silver Ball In unperceived Hands— And dancing softly to Himself His Yarn of Pearl—unwinds— He plies from Nought to Nought—
Her final summer was it, And yet we guessed it not; If tenderer industriousness Pervaded her, we thought A further force of life
168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!