#AmericanWriters
I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come,
735 Upon Concluded Lives There’s nothing cooler falls— Than Life’s sweet Calculations— The mixing Bells and Palls—
719 A South Wind—has a pathos Of individual Voice— As One detect on Landings An Emigrant’s address.
110 Artists wrestled here! Lo, a tint Cashmere! Lo, a Rose! Student of the Year!
513 Like Flowers, that heard the news… But never deemed the dripping priz… Awaited their—low Brows— Or Bees—that thought the Summer’s…
480 “Why do I love” You, Sir? Because— The Wind does not require the Gra… To answer—Wherefore when He pass
’Twas Crisis—All the length had p… That dull—benumbing time There is in Fever or Event— And now the Chance had come— The instant holding in its claw
Judgment is justest When the Judged, His action laid away, Divested is of every Disk But his sincerity.
203 He forgot—and I—remembered— ’Twas an everyday affair— Long ago as Christ and Peter— “Warmed them” at the “Temple fire…
486 I was the slightest in the House— I took the smallest Room— At night, my little Lamp, and Boo… And one Geranium—
September’s Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets– Crows– and Retros… And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming -
503 Better—than Music! For I—who hea… I was used—to the Birds—before— This—was different—’Twas Translat… Of all tunes I knew—and more—
79 Going to Heaven! I don’t know when— Pray do not ask me how! Indeed I’m too astonished
530 You cannot put a Fire out— A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan— Upon the slowest Night—
The Face we choose to miss - Be it but for a Day As absent as a Hundred Years, When it has rode away.