#AmericanWriters #Desire #InfatuationAndCrushes #Love #Metaphor #Relationships #RhymedStanza #Romantic#Love
315 He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on— He stuns you by degrees—
379 Rehearsal to Ourselves Of a Withdrawn Delight— Affords a Bliss like Murder— Omnipotent—Acute—
300 ‘Morning’—means 'Milking’—to the… Dawn’—to the Teneriffe’— Dice’—to the Maid’— Morning means just Risk’—to the L…
LX A SHADY friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind.
616 I rose—because He sank— I thought it would be opposite— But when his power dropped— My Soul grew straight.
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
XXII I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity.
599 There is a pain’—so utter’— It swallows substance up’— Then covers the Abyss with Trance… So Memory can step
577 If I may have it, when it’s dead, I’ll be contented—so— If just as soon as Breath is out It shall belong to me—
548 Death is potential to that Man Who dies—and to his friend— Beyond that—unconspicuous To Anyone but God—
17 Baffled for just a day or two— Embarrassed—not afraid— Encounter in my garden An unexpected Maid.
281 ’Tis so appalling—it exhilarates— So over Horror, it half Captivate… The Soul stares after it, secure— A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more…
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
415 Sunset at Night—is natural— But Sunset on the Dawn Reverses Nature—Master— So Midnight's—due—at Noon.
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.