#AmericanWriters
1670 In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm— Pink, lank and warm— But as he was a worm
881 I’ve none to tell me to but Thee So when Thou failest, nobody. It was a little tie— It just held Two, nor those it he…
940 On that dear Frame the Years had… Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Lig… The Witnessing, to Us—
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
726 We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s… And later—when we die— A little Water supplicate— Of fingers going by—
I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come,
685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
145 This heart that broke so long— These feet that never flagged— This faith that watched for star i… Give gently to the dead—
Remorse– is Memory– awake - Her Parties all astir - A Presence of Departed Acts - At window– and at Door – Its Past - set down before the S…
648 Promise This—When You be Dying— Some shall summon Me— Mine belong Your latest Sighing— Mine—to Belt Your Eye—
936 This Dust, and its Feature— Accredited—Today—Will in a s… Cease to identify— This Mind, and its measure—
957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—
365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore
461 A Wife—at daybreak I shall be— Sunrise—Hast thou a Flag for me? At Midnight, I am but a Maid, How short it takes to make a Brid…
396 There is a Languor of the Life More imminent than Pain— ’Tis Pain’s Successor—When the S… Has suffered all it can—