#AmericanWriters
815 The Luxury to apprehend The Luxury 'twould be To look at Thee a single time An Epicure of Me
Lives he in any other world My faith cannot reply Before it was imperative ’Twas all distinct to me -
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
592 What care the Dead, for Chanticle… What care the Dead for Day? ’Tis late your Sunrise vex their… And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning
119 Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of “Potose,” and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your wines!
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
411 The Color of the Grave is Green— The Outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Fi… Except it own a Stone—
160 Just lost, when I was saved! Just felt the world go by! Just girt me for the onset with E… When breath blew back,
458 Like eyes that looked on Wastes— Incredulous of Ought But Blank—and steady Wilderness— Diversified by Night—
979 This Merit hath the worst— It cannot be again— When Fate hath taunted last And thrown Her furthest Stone—
489 We pray—to Heaven— We prate—of Heaven— Relate—when Neighbors die— At what o’clock to heaven—they fle…
552 An ignorance a Sunset Confer upon the Eye— Of Territory—Color— Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
133 As Children bid the Guest “Good… And then reluctant turn— My flowers raise their pretty lips… Then put their nightgowns on.
LXXXVIII HEAVEN is what I cannot reach! The apple on the tree, Provided it do hopeless hang, That “heaven” is, to me.
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.