#AmericanWriters
I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since
CXXVIII I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm.
No brigadier throughout the year So civic as the jay. A neighbor and a warrior too, With shrill felicity Pursuing winds that censure us
101 Will there really be a “Morning”? Is there such a thing as “Day”? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they?
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
952 A Man may make a Remark— In itself—a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a… In dormant nature—lain—
552 An ignorance a Sunset Confer upon the Eye— Of Territory—Color— Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
950 The Sunset stopped on Cottages Where Sunset hence must be For treason not of His, but Life’… Gone Westerly, Today—
957 As One does Sickness over In convalescent Mind, His scrutiny of Chances By blessed Health obscured—
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
90 Within my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered thro’ the village—
458 Like eyes that looked on Wastes— Incredulous of Ought But Blank—and steady Wilderness— Diversified by Night—
541 Some such Butterfly be seen On Brazilian Pampas— Just at noon—no later—Sweet— Then—the License closes—
There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
XIX I STARTED early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me,