#AmericanWriters
894 Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid— As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.
961 Wert Thou but ill—that I might sh… How long a Day I could endure Though thine attention stop not on… Nor the least signal, Me assure—
115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?
197 Morning—is the place for Dew— Corn—is made at Noon— After dinner light—for flowers— Dukes—for Setting Sun!
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!
348 I would not paint — a picture — I'd rather be the One It's bright impossibility To dwell — delicious — on —
27 Morns like these—we parted— Noons like these—she rose— Fluttering first—then firmer To her fair repose.
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
379 Rehearsal to Ourselves Of a Withdrawn Delight— Affords a Bliss like Murder— Omnipotent—Acute—
859 A doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
383 Exhiliration—is within— There can no Outer Wine So royally intoxicate As that diviner Brand
102 Great Caesar! Condescend The Daisy, to receive, Gathered by Cato’s Daughter, With your majestic leave!
THE Brain—is wider than the sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will include With ease—and you—beside— The Brain is deeper than the sea—