#AmericanWriters
994 Partake as doth the Bee, Abstemiously. The Rose is an Estate— In Sicily.
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
321 Of all the Sounds despatched abro… There’s not a Charge to me Like that old measure in the Boug… That phraseless Melody—
141 Some, too fragile for winter winds The thoughtful grave encloses— Tenderly tucking them in from fros… Before their feet are cold.
939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—
To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise
539 The Province of the Saved Should be the Art—To save— Through Skill obtained in Themsel… The Science of the Grave
264 A Weight with Needles on the poun… To push, and pierce, besides— That if the Flesh resist the Heft… The puncture—coolly tries—
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin,
LXVI WHEN I hoped I feared, Since I hoped I dared; Everywhere alone As a church remain;
Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee,
955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.
186 What shall I do—it whimpers so— This little Hound within the Hear… All day and night with bark and st… And yet, it will not go—
A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?