#AmericanWriters
312 Her—“last Poems”— Poets—ended— Silver—perished—with her Tongue— Not on Record—bubbled other,
I saw the wind within her I knew it blew for me '— But she must buy my shelter I asked Humility
GLEE! the great storm is over! Four have recovered the land; Forty gone down together Into the boiling sand. Ring, for the scant salvation!
79 Going to Heaven! I don’t know when— Pray do not ask me how! Indeed I’m too astonished
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,
456 So well that I can live without— I love thee—then How well is that… As well as Jesus? Prove it me
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!
After great pain, a formal feeling… The Nerves sit ceremonious, like… The stiff Heart questions was it… And Yesterday, or Centuries befor… The Feet, mechanical, go round—
402 I pay—in Satin Cash— You did not state—your price— A Petal, for a Paragraph It near as I can guess—
My life closed twice before its cl… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me So huge, so hopeless to conceive
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
380 There is a flower that Bees prefe… And Butterflies—desire— To gain the Purple Democrat The Humming Bird—aspire—
190 He was weak, and I was strong—the… So He let me lead him in— I was weak, and He was strong the… So I let him lead me—Home.
353 A happy lip—breaks sudden— It doesn’t state you how It contemplated—smiling— Just consummated—now—