#AmericanWriters
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
497 He strained my faith— Did he find it supple? Shook my strong trust— Did it then—yield?
292 If your Nerve, deny you— Go above your Nerve— He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve—
517 He parts Himself’—like Leaves’— And then’—He closes up’— Then stands upon the Bonnet Of Any Buttercup’—
21 We lose’—because we win’— Gamblers’—recollecting which Toss their dice again!
I like to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile of mountains,
149 She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour!
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
1068 Further in Summer than the Birds Pathetic from the Grass A minor Nation celebrates Its unobtrusive Mass.
My Garden’—like the Beach’— Denotes there be’—a Sea’— That’s Summer’— Such as These’—the Pearls She fetches’—such as Me
253 You see I cannot see—your lifetim… I must guess— How many times it ache for me—toda… How many times for my far sake
867 Escaping backward to perceive The Sea upon our place— Escaping forward, to confront His glittering Embrace—
587 Empty my Heart, of Thee— Its single Artery— Begin, and leave Thee out— Simply Extinction’s Date—
378 I saw no Way—The Heavens were st… I felt the Columns close— The Earth reversed her Hemisphere… I touched the Universe—
232 The Sun’—just touched the Morning… The Morning’—Happy thing’— Supposed that He had come to dwel… And Life would all be Spring!