#AmericanWriters
673 The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon…
772 The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost— The Summit is not given
549 That I did always love I bring thee Proof That till I loved I never lived—Enough—
Nature rarer uses Yellow Than another Hue. Saves she all of that for Sunsets Prodigal of Blue Spending Scarlet, like a Woman
988 The Definition of Beauty is That Definition is none— Of Heaven, easing Analysis, Since Heaven and He are one.
727 Precious to Me—She still shall be… Though She forget the name I bear… The fashion of the Gown I wear— The very Color of My Hair—
I meant to find her when I came; Death had the same design; But the success was his, it seems, And the discomfit mine. I meant to tell her how I longed
I never saw a moor; I never saw the sea, Yet know I how the heather looks And what a billow be. I never spoke with God,
997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.
Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance
198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.
I dwell in Possibility – A fairer House than Prose – More numerous of Windows – Superior – for Doors – Of Chambers as the Cedars –
A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun! Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass…
This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…
I know a place where summer strive… With such a practised frost, She each year leads her daisies ba… Recording briefly, ‘Lost.’ But when the south wind stirs the…