#AmericanWriters #Desire #InfatuationAndCrushes #Love #Metaphor #Relationships #RhymedStanza #Romantic#Love
This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty Her message is committed
296 One Year ago’—jots what? God’—spell the word! I’—can’t’— Was’t Grace? Not that’— Was’t Glory? That’—will do’—
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
713 Fame of Myself, to justify, All other Plaudit be Superfluous—An Incense Beyond Necessity—
563 I could not prove the Years had f… Yet confident they run Am I, from symptoms that are past And Series that are done—
983 Ideals are the Fairly Oil With which we help the Wheel But when the Vital Axle turns The Eye rejects the Oil.
962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—
468 The Manner of its Death When Certain it must die— ’Tis deemed a privilege to choose— ’Twas Major Andre’s Way—
807 Expectation—is Contentment— Gain—Satiety— But Satiety—Conviction Of Necessity
Volcanoes be in Sicily And South America I judge from my Geography - Volcanos nearer here A Lava step at any time
79 Going to Heaven! I don’t know when— Pray do not ask me how! Indeed I’m too astonished
246 Forever at His side to walk— The smaller of the two! Brain of His Brain— Blood of His Blood—
CXII I FELT a funeral in my brain, And mourners, to and fro, Kept treading, treading, till it s… That sense was breaking through.
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
XXX WE play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool.