#AmericanWriters
907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
705 Suspense—is Hostiler than Death— Death—tho’soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increas… Suspense—does not conclude –
681 Soil of Flint, if steady tilled— Will refund by Hand— Seed of Palm, by Libyan Sun Fructified in Sand—
753 My Soul—accused me—And I quailed… As Tongue of Diamond had reviled All else accused me—and I smiled— My Soul—that Morning—was My frie…
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
915 Faith’—is the Pierless Bridge Supporting what We see Unto the Scene that We do not’— Too slender for the eye
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew
954 The Chemical conviction That Nought be lost Enable in Disaster My fractured Trust—
237 I think just how my shape will ris… When I shall be “forgiven”— Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Hea… Are out of sight—in Heaven—
45 There’s something quieter than sle… Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name.
40 When I count the seeds That are sown beneath, To bloom so, bye and bye— When I con the people
170 Portraits are to daily faces As an Evening West, To a fine, pedantic sunshine— In a satin Vest!
724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—
430 It would never be Common — more —… Difference — had begun — Many a bitterness — had been — But that old sort — was done —