#AmericanWriters
931 Noon—is the Hinge of Day— Evening—the Tissue Door— Morning—the East compelling the s… Till all the World is ajar—
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance
353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—
777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—
906 The Admirations’—and Contempts’—o… Show justest’—through an Open Tom… The Dying’—as it were a Height Reorganizes Estimate
1545 The Bible is an antique Volume— Written by faded men At the suggestion of Holy Spectre… Subjects—Bethlehem&mdash ;
540 I took my Power in my Hand— And went against the World— ’Twas not so much as David—had— But I—was twice as bold—
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
966 All forgot for recollecting Just a paltry One— All forsook, for just a Stranger’… New Accompanying—
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
737 The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago— And now she turns Her perfect Fac… Upon the World below—
472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—