#AmericanWriters
463 I live with Him — I see His face… I go no more away For Visitor — or Sundown — Death's single privacy
A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs— Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
54 If I should die, And you should live— And time should gurgle on— And morn should beam—
Between My Country—and the Other… There is a Sea— But Flowers—negotiate between us— As Ministry.
989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.
217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?
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,
933 Two Travellers perishing in Snow The Forests as they froze Together heard them strengthening Each other with the words
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
672 The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come—
897 How fortunate the Grave— All Prizes to obtain— Successful certain, if at last, First Suitor not in vain.
703 Out of sight? What of that? See the Bird—reach it! Curve by Curve—Sweep by Sweep— Round the Steep Air—
156 You love me—you are sure— I shall not fear mistake— I shall not cheated wake— Some grinning morn—
757 The Mountains—grow unnoticed— Their Purple figures rise Without attempt—Exhaustion— Assistance—or Applause—
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.