#AmericanWriters
226 Should you but fail at—Sea— In sight of me— Or doomed lie— Next Sun—to die—
997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.
404 How many Flowers fail in Wood— Or perish from the Hill— Without the privilege to know That they are Beautiful—
759 He fought like those Who’ve nough… Bestowed Himself to Balls As One who for a further Life Had not a further Use—
852 Apology for Her Be rendered by the Bee— Herself, without a Parliament Apology for Me.
354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—
To mend each tattered Faith There is a needle fair Though no appearance indicate ’Tis threaded in the Air And though it do not wear
685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
803 Who Court obtain within Himself Sees every Man a King— And Poverty of Monarchy Is an interior thing—
A Sickness of this World it most… When Best Men die. A Wishfulness their far Condition To occupy. A Chief indifference, as Foreign
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—
707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—
Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—
229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near
A Death blow is a Life blow to S… Who till they died, did not alive… Who had they lived, had died but w… They died, Vitality begun.