#AmericanWriters
864 The Robin for the Crumb Returns no syllable But long records the Lady’s name In Silver Chronicle.
376 Of Course—I prayed— And did God Care? He cared as much as on the Air A Bird—had stamped her foot—
624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—
696 Their Height in Heaven comforts n… Their Glory—nought to me— ’Twas best imperfect—as it was— I’m finite—I can’t see—
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—
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
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…
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;
To see her is a Picture— To hear her is a Tune— To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June— To know her not—Affliction—
Epigram THIS is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,— The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty.
247 What would I give to see his face… I’d give—I’d give my life—of cour… But that is not enough! Stop just a minute—let me think!
240 Ah, Moon—and Star! You are very far— But were no one Farther than you—
926 Patience’—has a quiet Outer’— Patience’—Look within’— Is an Insect’s futile forces Infinites’—between’—
He ate and drank the precious Wor… His Spirit grew robust— He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust— He danced along the dingy Days
968 Fitter to see Him, I may be For the long Hindrance—Grace—to… With Summers, and with Winters, g… Some passing Year—A trait bestow