#AmericanWriters
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
165 A Wounded Deer—leaps highest— I’ve heard the Hunter tell— ’Tis but the Ecstasy of death— And then the Brake is still!
506 He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast— It was a boundless place to me
107 ’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away!
40 When I count the seeds That are sown beneath, To bloom so, bye and bye— When I con the people
If Nature smiles - the Mother mu… I’m sure, at many a whim Of Her eccentric Family - Is She so much to blame?
523 Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered Every time—for Two— So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You—
724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—
357 God is a distant—stately Lover— Woos, as He states us—by His Son… Verily, a Vicarious Courtship— “Miles”, and “Priscilla”, were su…
578 The Body grows without— The more convenient way— That if the Spirit—like to hide Its Temple stands, alway,
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—
33 If recollecting were forgetting, Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot.
452 The Malay—took the Pearl— Not—I—the Earl— I—feared the Sea—too much Unsanctified—to touch—
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
