#AmericanWriters
975 The Mountain sat upon the Plain In his tremendous Chair— His observation omnifold, His inquest, everywhere—
690 Victory comes late— And is held low to freezing lips— Too rapt with frost To take it—
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
185 “Faith” is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see— But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
I breathed enough to learn the tri… And now, removed from air, I simulate the breath so well, That one, to be quite sure The lungs are stirless, must desce…
933 Two Travellers perishing in Snow The Forests as they froze Together heard them strengthening Each other with the words
21 We lose’—because we win’— Gamblers’—recollecting which Toss their dice again!
368 How sick—to wait—in any place—but… I knew last night—when someone tri… Thinking—perhaps—that I looked ti… Or breaking—almost—with unspoken p…
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—
Of Brussels—it was not— Of Kidderminster? Nay— The Winds did buy it of the Woods… They—sold it unto me It was a gentle price—
218 Is it true, dear Sue? Are there two? I shouldn’t like to come For fear of joggling Him!
404 How many Flowers fail in Wood— Or perish from the Hill— Without the privilege to know That they are Beautiful—
582 Inconceivably solemn! Things go gay Pierce—by the very Press Of Imagery—
835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.
620 It makes no difference abroad— The Seasons—fit—the same— The Mornings blossom into Noons— And split their Pods of Flame—