#AmericanWriters
XLIV THE show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be.
I died for beauty but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed…
343 My Reward for Being, was This. My premium—My Bliss— An Admiralty, less— A Sceptre—penniless—
955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
XIII THE soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
LXVII Presentment is that long shadow on… Indicative that suns go down; The notice to the startled grass That darkness is about to pass.
843 I made slow Riches but my Gain Was steady as the Sun And every Night, it numbered more Than the preceding One
88 As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear— As for the lost we grapple Tho’ all the rest are here—
VIII A wounded deer leaps highest, I ’ve heard the hunter tell; ’T is but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still.
641 Size circumscribes—it has no room For petty furniture— The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture—
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
As from the earth the light Ballo… Asks nothing but release - Ascension that for which it was, Its soaring Residence. The spirit looks upon the Dust
They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the June A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…
477 No Man can compass a Despair— As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed—