#AmericanWriters
The Soul selects her own Society— Then—shuts the Door— To her divine Majority— Present no more— Unmoved—she notes the Chariots—pa…
856 There is a finished feeling Experienced at Graves— A leisure of the Future— A Wilderness of Size.
60 Like her the Saints retire, In their Chapeaux of fire, Martial as she! Like her the Evenings steal
Lightly stepped a yellow star To its lofty place - Loosed the Moon her silver hat From her lustral Face - All of Evening softly lit
A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook,
Death leaves Us homesick, who beh… Except that it is gone Are ignorant of its Concern As if it were not born. Through all their former Places,…
Elysium is as far as to The very nearest Room If in that Room a Friend await Felicity or Doom— What fortitude the Soul contains
215 What is – “Paradise” – Who live there – Are they “Farmers” – Do they “hoe” –
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—
I never hear the word 'escape’ Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude. I never hear of prisons broad
I found the phrase to every though… I ever had, but one; And that defies me,—as a hand Did try to chalk the sun To races nurtured in the dark;—
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.
I years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine
941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize
239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!