#AmericanWriters
The Face we choose to miss - Be it but for a Day As absent as a Hundred Years, When it has rode away.
411 The Color of the Grave is Green— The Outer Grave—I mean— You would not know it from the Fi… Except it own a Stone—
714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—
535 She’s happy, with a new Content— That feels to her—like Sacrament— She’s busy—with an altered Care— As just apprenticed to the Air—
426 It don't sound so terrible—quite—a… I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "De… Put it in Latin—left of my school… Seems it don't shriek so—under rul…
840 I cannot buy it—’tis not sold— There is no other in the World— Mine was the only one I was so happy I forgot
814 One Day is there of the Series Termed Thanksgiving Day. Celebrated part at Table Part in Memory.
One need not be a chamber to be ha… One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing Material place. Far safer, of a midnight meeting
Part One: Life LII VICTORY comes late, And is held low to freezing lips Too rapt with frost
440 ’Tis customary as we part A trinket—to confer— It helps to stimulate the faith When Lovers be afar—
773 Deprived of other Banquet, I entertained Myself— At first—a scant nutrition— An insufficient Loaf—
I watched the Moon around the Hou… Until upon a Pane— She stopped—a Traveller’s privile… And there upon I gazed—as at a stranger—
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plant… At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always
256 If I’m lost—now That I was found— Shall still my transport be— That once—on me—those Jasper Gate…
XI MUCH madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’T is the majority