#AmericanWriters
950 The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Sunset hence must be For treason not of His, but Life’… Gone Westerly, Today—
HE preached upon “breadth” till i… The broad are too broad to define: And of “truth” until it proclaimed… The truth never flaunted a sign. Simplicity fled from his counterfe…
962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple Host
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs— Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships
XIII THE soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
975 The Mountain sat upon the Plain In his tremendous Chair— His observation omnifold, His inquest, everywhere—
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
334 All the letters I can write Are not fair as this— Syllables of Velvet— Sentences of Plush,
XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you
960 As plan for Noon and plan for Nig… So differ Life and Death In positive Prospective— The Foot upon the Earth
624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—
XXIX THE nearest dream recedes, unreal… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school—boy