#AmericanWriters
589 The Night was wide, and furnished… With but a single Star— That often as a Cloud it met— Blew out itself—for fear—
476 I meant to have but modest needs— Such as Content—and Heaven— Within my income—these could lie And Life and I—keep even—
567 He gave away his Life— To Us—Gigantic Sum— A trifle—in his own esteem— But magnified—by Fame—
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
1000 The Fingers of the Light Tapped soft upon the Town With “I am great and cannot wait So therefore let me in.”
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
782 There is an arid Pleasure— As different from Joy— As Frost is different from Dew— Like element—are they—
800 Two—were immortal twice— The privilege of few— Eternity—obtained—in Time— Reversed Divinity’—
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
675 Essential Oilsare wrung The Attar from the Rose Be not expressed by Sunsalone It is the gift of Screws
I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—
The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more. Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s p…
218 Is it true, dear Sue? Are there two? I shouldn’t like to come For fear of joggling Him!