#AmericanWriters
186 What shall I do—it whimpers so— This little Hound within the Hear… All day and night with bark and st… And yet, it will not go—
234 You’re right—“the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”—
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly
721 Behind Me’—dips Eternity’— Before Me’—Immortality’— Myself’—the Term between’— Death but the Drift of Eastern G…
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
666 Ah, Teneriffe! Retreating Mountain! Purples of Ages—pause for you— Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regim…
209 With thee, in the Desert— With thee in the thirst— With thee in the Tamarind wood— Leopard breathes—at last!
298 Alone, I cannot be— For Hosts—do visit me— Recordless Company— Who baffle Key—
So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole
323 As if I asked a common Alms, And in my wondering hand A Stranger pressed a Kingdom, And I, bewildered, stand—
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
388 Take your Heaven further on— This—to Heaven divine Has gone— Had You earlier blundered in Possibly, e’en You had seen
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
241 I like a look of Agony, Because I know it’s true— Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate, a Throe—