#AmericanWriters
136 Have you got a Brook in your litt… Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drin… And shadows tremble so—
The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
I started early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me. And frigates in the upper floor
975 The Mountain sat upon the Plain In his tremendous Chair— His observation omnifold, His inquest, everywhere—
Safe in their alabaster chambers, Untouched by morning and untouched… Sleep the meek members of the resu… Rafter of satin, and roof of stone… Light laughs the breeze in her cas…
904 Had I not This, or This, I said, Appealing to Myself, In moment of prosperity— Inadequate—were Life—
876 It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone Enclosed ’twas not of Rail A Consciousness its Acre, and It held a Human Soul.
IF I can stop one heart from brea… I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching… Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin
Growth of Man—like Growth of Nat… Gravitates within— Atmosphere, and Sun endorse it— Bit it stir—alone— Each—its difficult Ideal
191 The Skies can’t keep their secret… They tell it to the Hills— The Hills just tell the Orchards— And they—the Daffodils!
Part One: Life LI IT tossed and tossed,— A little brig I knew,— O’ertook by blast,
778 This that would greet—an hour ago— Is quaintest Distance—now— Had it a Guest from Paradise— Nor glow, would it, nor bow—
XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—