#AmericanWriters
XXI HE ate and drank the precious wor… His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was dust.
690 Victory comes late— And is held low to freezing lips— Too rapt with frost To take it—
945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—
He preached upon ‘Breadth’ till i… The Broad are too broad to define And of ‘Truth’ until it proclaime… The Truth never flaunted a Sign— Simplicity fled from his counterfe…
383 Exhiliration—is within— There can no Outer Wine So royally intoxicate As that diviner Brand
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!
My life closed twice before its cl… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me So huge, so hopeless to conceive
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
205 I should not dare to leave my frie… Because—because if he should die While I was gone—and I—too late— Should reach the Heart that wante…
870 Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for The “Golden Fleece”
550 I cross till I am weary A Mountain—in my mind— More Mountains—then a Sea— More Seas—And then
A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself,
MINE enemy is growing old, I have at last revenge. The palate of the hate departs; If any would avenge, Let him be quick, the viand flits,
570 I could die’—to know’— ’Tis a trifling knowledge’— News-Boys salute the Door’— Carts’—joggle by’—