#AmericanWriters
624 Forever—it composed of Nows— ’Tis not a different time— Except for Infiniteness— And Latitude of Home—
610 You’ll find—it when you try to die… The Easier to let go— For recollecting such as went— You could not spare—you know.
152 The Sun kept stooping—stooping—lo… The Hills to meet him rose! On his side, what Transaction! On their side, what Repose!
56 If I should cease to bring a Rose Upon a festal day, ‘Twill be because beyond the Rose I have been called away—
774 It is a lonesome Glee— Yet sanctifies the Mind— With fair association— Afar upon the Wind
83 Heart, not so heavy as mine Wending late home— As it passed my window Whistled itself a tune—
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.
424 Removed from Accident of Loss By Accident of Gain Befalling not my simple Days— Myself had just to earn—
CXI A DOOR just opened on a street— I, lost, was passing by— An instant’s width of warmth discl… And wealth, and company.
483 A Solemn thing within the Soul To feel itself get ripe— And golden hang—while farther up— The Maker’s Ladders stop—
453 Love—thou art high— I cannot climb thee— But, were it Two— Who know but we—
Whether they have forgotten Or are forgetting now Or never remembered - Safer not to know - Miseries of conjecture
845 Be Mine the Doom— Sufficient Fame— To perish in Her Hand!
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.