#AmericanWriters
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
869 Because the Bee may blameless hum For Thee a Bee do I become List even unto Me. Because the Flowers unafraid
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in
Not in this world to see his face Sounds long, until I read the pla… Where this is said to be But just the primer to a life Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,
424 Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days— Myself had just to earn—
LV I envy seas whereon he rides, I envy spokes of wheels Of chariots that him convey, I envy speechless hills
853 When One has given up One’s life The parting with the rest Feels easy, as when Day lets go Entirely the West
607 Of nearness to her sundered Thing… The Soul has special times— When Dimness—looks the Oddity— Distinctness—easy—se ems—
Going to him! Happy letter! Tell… Tell him the page I didn’t write; Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun… Tell him just how the fingers hurr…
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
Shall I take thee, the Poet said To the propounded word? Be stationed with the Candidates Till I have finer tried— The Poet searched Philology
’Twas comfort in her Dying Room To hear the living Clock— A short relief to have the wind Walk boldly up and knock— Diversion from the Dying Theme
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
1000 The Fingers of the Light Tapped soft upon the Town With “I am great and cannot wait So therefore let me in.”