#AmericanWriters
XLIX A POOR torn heart, a tattered he… That sat it down to rest, Nor noticed that the ebbing day Flowed silver to the west,
Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—
Luck is not chance It’s Toil Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned The Father of the Mine
357 God is a distant—stately Lover— Woos, as He states us—by His Son… Verily, a Vicarious Courtship— “Miles”, and “Priscilla”, were su…
569 I reckon—when I count it all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of G… And then—the List is done—
432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live
20 Distrustful of the Gentian— And just to turn away, The fluttering of her fringes Child my perfidy—
“Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn, A mighty look runs round the Worl…
752 So the Eyes accost’—and sunder In an Audience’— Stamped’—occasionally’—forever’— So may Countenance
12 The morns are meeker than they wer… The nuts are getting brown— The berry’s cheek is plumper— The Rose is out of town.
300 ‘Morning’—means 'Milking’—to the… Dawn’—to the Teneriffe’— Dice’—to the Maid’— Morning means just Risk’—to the L…
705 Suspense—is Hostiler than Death— Death—tho’soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increas… Suspense—does not conclude –
537 Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity—
542 I had no Cause to be awake— My Best—was gone to sleep— And Morn a new politeness took— And failed to wake them up—
180 As if some little Arctic flower Upon the polar hem— Went wandering down the Latitudes Until it puzzled came