#AmericanWriters
92 My friend must be a Bird’— Because it flies! Mortal, my friend must be, Because it dies!
XII I ASKED no other thing, No other was denied. I offered Being for it; The mighty merchant smiled.
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—
184 A transport one cannot contain May yet a transport be— Though God forbid it lift the lid… Unto its Ecstasy!
To mend each tattered Faith There is a needle fair Though no appearance indicate ’Tis threaded in the Air And though it do not wear
145 This heart that broke so long— These feet that never flagged— This faith that watched for star i… Give gently to the dead—
The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day
711 Strong Draughts of Their Refresh… To drink—enables Mine Through Desert or the Wilderness As bore it Sealed Wine—
383 Exhiliration—is within— There can no Outer Wine So royally intoxicate As that diviner Brand
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
The earth has many keys, Where melody is not Is the unknown peninsula. Beauty is nature’s fact. But witness for her land,
199 I’m “wife”'—I’ve finished that’— That other state’— I’m Czar’—I’m “Woman” now’— It’s safer so’—
13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand
965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—
Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The Hour, and the Clime -