#AmericanWriters
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
LXVII If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam,
902 The first Day that I was a Life I recollect it—How still— That last Day that I was a Life I recollect it—as well—
799 Despair’s advantage is achieved By suffering—Despair— To be assisted of Reverse One must Reverse have bore—
148 All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of “Currer Bell” In quiet “Haworth” laid.
740 You taught me Waiting with Myself… Appointment strictly kept’— You taught me fortitude of Fate’— This’—also’—I have learnt’—
XXVII BECAUSE I could not stop for D… He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Oursel… And Immortality.
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
819 All I may, if small, Do it not display Larger for the Totalness— ’Tis Economy
825 An Hour is a Sea Between a few, and me— With them would Harbor be—
622 To know just how He suffered—woul… To know if any Human eyes were ne… To whom He could entrust His wave… Until it settle broad—on Paradise…
Going to him! Happy letter! Tell… Tell him the page I didn’t write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun… Tell him just how the fingers hurr…
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,