#AmericanWriters
962 Midsummer, was it, when They died… A full, and perfect time— The Summer closed upon itself In Consummated Bloom—
900 What did They do since I saw The… Were They industrious? So many questions to put Them Have I the eagerness
LX The grass so little has to do,— A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,
537 Me prove it now—Whoever doubt Me stop to prove it—now— Make haste—the Scruple! Death be… For Opportunity—
Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.
Remembrance has a Rear and Front… ’Tis something like a House - It has a Garret also For Refuse and the Mouse. Besides the deepest Cellar
She could not live upon the Past The Present did not know her And so she sought this sweet at la… And nature gently owned her The mother that has not a knell
Declaiming Waters none may dread… But Waters that are still Are so for that most fatal cause In Nature– they are full –
Said Death to Passion ‘Give of thine an Acre unto me.’ Said Passion, through contracting… ‘A Thousand Times Thee Nay.’ Bore Death from Passion
417 Is it dead—Find it— Out of sound—Out of sight— “Happy”? Which is wiser— You, or the Wind?
SUCCESS is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple host
Ended, ere it begun - The Title was scarcely told When the Preface perished from Co… The Story, unrevealed - Had it been mine, to print!
883 The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light
Luck is not chance It’s Toil Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned The Father of the Mine
378 I saw no Way—The Heavens were st… I felt the Columns close— The Earth reversed her Hemisphere… I touched the Universe—