#AmericanWriters
Air has no Residence, no Neighbor… No Ear, no Door, No Apprehension of Another Oh, Happy Air! Ethereal Guest at e’en an Outcast…
A Word dropped careless on a Page May stimulate an eye When folded in perpetual seam The Wrinkled Maker lie Infection in the sentence breeds
266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!
XLI THE soul unto itself Is an imperial friend,— Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid
I breathed enough to learn the tri… And now, removed from air, I simulate the breath so well, That one, to be quite sure The lungs are stirless, must desce…
846 Twice had Summer her fair Verdure Proffered to the Plain— Twice a Winter’s silver Fracture On the Rivers been—
We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,
176 I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”! I don’t care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away?
I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
427 I'll clutch — and clutch — Next — One — Might be the golden… Could take it — Diamonds — Wait —
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
474 They put Us far apart— As separate as Sea And Her unsown Peninsula— We signified “These see”—