#AmericanWriters
674 The Soul that hath a Guest Doth seldom go abroad— Diviner Crowd at Home— Obliterate the need—
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
It's thoughts—and just One Heart— And Old Sunshine—about— Make frugal—Ones—Content— And two or three—for Company— Upon a Holiday—
Lives he in any other world My faith cannot reply Before it was imperative ’Twas all distinct to me -
824 [first version] The Wind begun to knead the Grass… As Women do a Dough— He flung a Hand full at the Plain…
Immured in Heaven! What a Cell! Let every Bondage be, Thou sweetest of the Universe, Like that which ravished thee!
428 Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture—we discover— Or a splintered Crown—
To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn’t hurt— It’s only fainter—by degrees— And then—it’s out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East
939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—
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
653 Of Being is a Bird The likest to the Down An Easy Breeze do put afloat The General Heavens—upon—
LXXXVI A LADY red upon the hill Her annual secret keeps; A lady white within the field In placid lily sleeps!
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
401 What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush… Or violate a Star—