#AmericanWriters
45 There’s something quieter than sle… Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name.
870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”
910 Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By—Paradox—the Mind itself— Presuming it to lead
XXXVI I NEVER hear the word “escape” Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude.
98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!
1540 As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away— Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy—
516 Beauty—be not caused—It Is— Chase it, and it ceases— Chase it not, and it abides— Overtake the Creases
How fits his Umber Coat The Tailor of the Nut? Combined without a seam Like Raiment of a Dream - Who spun the Auburn Cloth?
269 Bound—a trouble— And lives can bear it! Limit—how deep a bleeding go! So—many—drops—of vital scarlet—
104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
Nature rarer uses Yellow Than another Hue. Saves she all of that for Sunsets Prodigal of Blue Spending Scarlet, like a Woman
I never saw a moor; I never saw the sea, Yet know I how the heather looks And what a billow be. I never spoke with God,
607 Of nearness to her sundered Thing… The Soul has special times— When Dimness—looks the Oddity— Distinctness—easy—se ems—
94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?
