#AmericanWriters
293 I got so I could take his name— Without—Tremendous gain— That Stop-sensation—on my Soul— And Thunder—in the Room—
679 Conscious am I in my Chamber, Of a shapeless friend— He doth not attest by Posture— Nor Confirm—by Word—
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
395 Reverse cannot befall That fine Prosperity Whose Sources are interior— As soon—Adversity
XX ARCTURUS is his other name,— I ’d rather call him star! It ’s so unkind of science To go and interfere!
951 As Frost is best conceived By force of its Result— Affliction is inferred By subsequent effect—
Let me not mar that perfect Dream By an Auroral stain But so adjust my daily Night That it will come again. Not when we know, the Power accos…
On this wondrous sea Sailing silently, Ho! Pilot, ho! Knowest thou the shore Where no breakers roar—
404 How many Flowers fail in Wood— Or perish from the Hill— Without the privilege to know That they are Beautiful—
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
91 So bashful when I spied her! So pretty—so ashamed! So hidden in her leaflets Lest anybody find—
344 ’Twas the old—road—through pain— That unfrequented—One— With many a turn—and thorn— That stops—at Heaven—
667 Bloom upon the Mountain’—stated’— Blameless of a Name’— Efflorescence of a Sunset’— Reproduced’—the same’—
He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance
It struck me every day The lightning was as new As if the cloud that instant slit And let the fire through. It burned me in the night,