#AmericanWriters
XXXVII For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—
334 All the letters I can write Are not fair as this— Syllables of Velvet— Sentences of Plush,
285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—
Before you thought of spring, Except as a surmise, You see, God bless his suddenness… A fellow in the skies Of independent hues,
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
462 Why make it doubt — it hurts it so… So sick — to guess — So strong — to know — So brave — upon its little Bed
137 Flowers—Well—if anybody Can the ecstasy define— Half a transport—half a trouble— With which flowers humble men:
XIX I STARTED early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me,
XXXIV NATURE is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon— Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee… Nay—Nature is Heaven.
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
204 I’ll tell you how the Sun rose— A Ribbon at a time— The Steeples swam in Amethyst— The news, like Squirrels, ran—
414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony
999 Superfluous were the Sun When Excellence be dead He were superfluous every Day For every Day be said
5 I have a Bird in spring Which for myself doth sing— The spring decoys. And as the summer nears—