#AmericanWriters
86 South Winds jostle them— Bumblebees come— Hover—hesitate— Dri nk, and are gone—
440 ’Tis customary as we part A trinket—to confer— It helps to stimulate the faith When Lovers be afar—
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
787 Such is the Force of Happiness— The Least—can lift a Ton Assisted by its stimulus— Who Misery—sustain—
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
I dreaded that first robin so, But he is mastered now, And I’m accustomed to him grown,— He hurts a little, though. I thought if I could only live
On my volcano grows the Grass A meditative spot - An acre for a Bird to choose Would be the General thought - How red the Fire rocks below -
550 I cross till I am weary A Mountain—in my mind— More Mountains—then a Sea— More Seas—And then
753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed… As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My frie…
I dwell in Possibility – A fairer House than Prose – More numerous of Windows – Superior – for Doors – Of Chambers as the Cedars –
643 I could suffice for Him, I knew— He—could suffice for Me— Yet Hesitating Fractions—Both Surveyed Infinity—
472 Except the Heaven had come so nea… So seemed to choose My Door— The Distance would not haunt me s… I had not hoped—before—
54 If I should die, And you should live— And time should gurgle on— And morn should beam—