#AmericanWriters #Desire #InfatuationAndCrushes #Love #Metaphor #Relationships #RhymedStanza #Romantic#Love
233 The Lamp burns sure—within— Tho’ Serfs—supply the Oil— It matters not the busy Wick— At her phosphoric toil!
She sweeps with many-colored broom… And leaves the shreds behind; Oh, housewife in the evening west, Come back, and dust the pond! You dropped a purple ravelling in,
33 If recollecting were forgetting, Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot.
5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
538 ’Tis true—They shut me in the Col… But then—Themselves were warm And could not know the feeling ’tw… Forget it—Lord—of Them—
115 What Inn is this Where for the night Peculiar Traveller comes? Who is the Landlord?
CXXVIII I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm.
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
LXXXII THERE’S a certain slant of ligh… On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.
90 Within my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered thro’ the village—
XLVIII THOUGH I get home how late, how… So I get home, ’t will compensate… Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me,
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
178 I cautious, scanned my little life… I winnowed what would fade From what would last till Heads l… Should be a-dreaming laid.
708 I sometimes drop it, for a Quick— The Thought to be alive— Anonymous Delight to know— And Madder—to conceive—