#AmericanWriters
115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?
779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—
375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—
XIX PAIN has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not.
880 The Bird must sing to earn the Cr… What merit have the Tune No Breakfast if it guaranty The Rose content may bloom
221 It can’t be “Summer”! That—got through! It’s early—yet—for “Spring”! There’s that long town of White—t…
306 The Soul’s Superior instants Occur to Her—alone— When friend—and Earth’s occasion Have infinite withdrawn—
A clock stopped—not the mantel’s Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing That just now dangled still. An awe came on the trinket!
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
627 The Tint I cannot take—is best— The Color too remote That I could show it in Bazaar— A Guinea at a sight—
Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore Has vanquished Flame’s conditions…
307 The One who could repeat the Summ… Were greater than itself—though H… Minutest of Mankind should be— And He—could reproduce the Sun—
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
‘And with what body do they come?’… Then they do come - Rejoice! What Door– What Hour– Run– ru… Illuminate the House! ‘Body!’ Then real– a Face and E…
947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?