#AmericanWriters
850 I sing to use the Waiting My Bonnet but to tie And shut the Door unto my House No more to do have I
25 She slept beneath a tree— Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute— She recognized the foot—
154 Except to Heaven, she is nought. Except for Angels—lone. Except to some wide-wandering Bee A flower superfluous blown.
547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—
138 Pigmy seraphs’—gone astray’— Velvet people from Vevay’— Balles from some lost summer day’— Bees exclusive Coterie’—
802 Time feels so vast that were it no… For an Eternity— I fear me this Circumference Engross my Finity—
A Coffin’—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave’—is a restricted Breadth’…
377 To lose one’s faith—surpass The loss of an Estate— Because Estates can be Replenished—faith cannot—
458 Like eyes that looked on Wastes— Incredulous of Ought But Blank—and steady Wilderness— Diversified by Night—
462 Why make it doubt — it hurts it so… So sick — to guess — So strong — to know — So brave — upon its little Bed
44 If she had been the Mistletoe And I had been the Rose— How gay upon your table My velvet life to close—
365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore
448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
Volcanoes be in Sicily And South America I judge from my Geography - Volcanos nearer here A Lava step at any time