#AmericanWriters
To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise
26 It’s all I have to bring today— This, and my heart beside— This, and my heart, and all the fi… And all the meadows wide—
Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion
Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by! From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory! From marshallings as simple
It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bell… Put out their tongues, for noon. It was not frost, for on my flesh
38 By such and such an offering To Mr. So and So, The web of live woven— So martyrs albums show!
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
825 An Hour is a Sea Between a few, and me— With them would Harbor be—
748 Autumn—overlooked my Knitting— Dyes—said He—have I— Could disparage a Flamingo— Show Me them—said I—
384 No Rack can torture me— My Soul—at Liberty— Behind this mortal Bone There knits a bolder One—
913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end
We don’t cry—Tim and I, We are far too grand— But we bolt the door tight To prevent a friend— Then we hide our brave face