#AmericanWriters
LXI EACH life converges to some cent… Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal,
845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!
521 Endow the Living—with the Tears— You squander on the Dead, And They were Men and Women—now, Around Your Fireside—
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
I dwell in Possibility – A fairer House than Prose – More numerous of Windows – Superior – for Doors – Of Chambers as the Cedars –
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
“Sic transit gloria mundi,” “How doth the busy bee,” “Dum vivimus vivamus,” I stay mine enemy! Oh “veni, vidi, vici!”
115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?
306 The Soul’s Superior instants Occur to Her—alone— When friend—and Earth’s occasion Have infinite withdrawn—
A toad can die of light! Death is the common right Of toads and men,— Of earl and midge The privilege.
Let me not mar that perfect Dream By an Auroral stain But so adjust my daily Night That it will come again. Not when we know, the Power accos…
564 My period had come for Prayer— No other Art—would do— My Tactics missed a rudiment— Creator—Was it you?
193 I shall know why — when Time is o… And I have ceased to wonder why — Christ will explain each separate… In the fair schoolroom of the sky…
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—