#AmericanWriters
128 Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, Tell me how far the morning leaps—
The grave my little cottage is, Where 'Keeping house’ for thee I make my parlor orderly And lay the marble tea. For two divided, briefly,
858 This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life I mention it to you, When Sunrise through a fissure dr… The Day must follow too.
448 This was a Poet—It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings— And Attar so immense
It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,
Luck is not chance It’s Toil Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned The Father of the Mine
252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy
The Work of Her that went, The Toil of Fellows done - In Ovens green our Mother bakes, By Fires of the Sun.
644 You left me—Sire—two Legacies— A Legacy of Love A Heavenly Father would suffice Had He the offer of—
532 I tried to think a lonelier Thing Than any I had seen— Some Polar Expiation—An Omen in… Of Death’s tremendous nearness—
718 I meant to find Her when I came— Death—had the same design— But the Success—was His—it seems— And the Surrender—Mine—
888 When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House— And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place—
344 ’Twas the old—road—through pain— That unfrequented—One— With many a turn—and thorn— That stops—at Heaven—
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
“Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn, A mighty look runs round the Worl…