#AmericanWriters
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
10 My wheel is in the dark! I cannot see a spoke Yet know its dripping feet Go round and round.
LXIII Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair.
I saw the wind within her I knew it blew for me '— But she must buy my shelter I asked Humility
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
I know a place where summer strive… With such a practised frost, She each year leads her daisies ba… Recording briefly, ‘Lost.’ But when the south wind stirs the…
604 Unto my Books’—so good to turn’— Far ends of tired Days’— It half endears the Abstinence’— And Pain’—is missed’—in Praise’—
165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!
522 Had I presumed to hope— The loss had been to Me A Value—for the Greatness’ Sake— As Giants—gone away—
995 This was in the White of the Year… That—was in the Green— Drifts were as difficult then to t… As Daisies now to be seen—
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry....
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
940 On that dear Frame the Years had… Yet precious as the House In which We first experienced Lig… The Witnessing, to Us—