#AmericanWriters
Death is like the insect Menacing the tree, Competent to kill it, But decoyed may be. Bait it with the balsam,
635 I think the longest Hour of all Is when the Cars have come— And we are waiting for the Coach— It seems as though the Time
There is no Silence in the Earth… As that endured Which uttered, would discourage N… And haunt the World.
XXIX THE nearest dream recedes, unreal… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school—boy
947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?
817 Given in Marriage unto Thee Oh thou Celestial Host— Bride of the Father and the Son Bride of the Holy Ghost.
The day came slow, till five o’clo… Then sprang before the hills, Like hindered rubies, or the light… A sudden musket spills. The purple could not keep the east…
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
I went to heaven,— ‘T was a small town, Lit with a ruby, Lathed with down. Stiller than the fields
204 I’ll tell you how the Sun rose— A Ribbon at a time— The Steeples swam in Amethyst— The news, like Squirrels, ran—
920 We can but follow to the Sun— As oft as He go down He leave Ourselves a Sphere behin… ’Tis mostly—following—
301 I reason, Earth is short— And Anguish—absolute— And many hurt, But, what of that?
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
276 Many a phrase has the English lan… I have heard but one— Low as the laughter of the Cricke… Loud, as the Thunder’s Tongue—
394 ’Twas Love’—not me’— Oh punish’—pray’— The Real one died for Thee’— Just Him’—not me’—