#AmericanWriters
866 Fame is the tine that Scholars le… Upon their Setting Names— The Iris not of Occident That disappears as comes—
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
387 The sweetest Heresy received That Man and Woman know— Each Other’s Convert— Though the Faith accommodate but…
504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
Of all the souls that stand create I have elected one. When sense from spirit files away, And subterfuge is done; When that which is and that which…
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
500 Within my Garden, rides a Bird Upon a single Wheel— Whose spokes a dizzy Music make As ’twere a travelling Mill—
143 For every Bird a Nest— Wherefore in timid quest Some little Wren goes seeking rou… Wherefore when boughs are free—
569 I reckon—when I count it all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.
Part One: Life LII VICTORY comes late, And is held low to freezing lips Too rapt with frost
697 I could bring You Jewels—had I a… But You have enough—of those— I could bring You Odors from St.… Colors—from Vera Cruz—
646 I think to Live—may be a Bliss To those who dare to try— Beyond my limit to conceive— My lip—to testify—