#AmericanWriters
126 To fight aloud, is very brave— But gallanter, I know Who charge within the bosom The Cavalry of Woe—
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—
496 As far from pity, as complaint— As cool to speech—as stone— As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone—
699 The Judge is like the Owl— I’ve heard my Father tell— And Owls do build in Oaks— So here’s an Amber Sill—
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
610 You’ll find—it when you try to die… The Easier to let go— For recollecting such as went— You could not spare—you know.
334 All the letters I can write Are not fair as this— Syllables of Velvet— Sentences of Plush,
367 Over and over, like a Tune— The Recollection plays— Drums off the Phantom Battlements Cornets of Paradise—
XXXVII LOVE is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.
87 A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
The Grass so little has to do ' A Sphere of simple Green ' With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain ' And stir all day to pretty Tunes
168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!
559 It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—'twas not Pain—
I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…