#AmericanWriters
Longing is like the Seed That wrestles in the Ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The Hour, and the Clime -
292 If your Nerve, deny you— Go above your Nerve— He can lean against the Grave, If he fear to swerve—
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
334 All the letters I can write Are not fair as this— Syllables of Velvet— Sentences of Plush,
The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery
How firm Eternity must look To crumbling men like me The only Adamant Estate In all Identity - How mighty to the insecure
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…
LXVI WHEN I hoped I feared, Since I hoped I dared; Everywhere alone As a church remain;
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,
155 The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft—yieldeth me— If any ask me why— ’Twere easier to die—
XIX I STARTED early, took my dog, And visited the sea; The mermaids in the basement Came out to look at me,
LV I envy seas whereon he rides, I envy spokes of wheels Of chariots that him convey, I envy speechless hills
84 Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a “Diver”— Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest.
924 Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself—
705 Suspense—is Hostiler than Death— Death—tho’soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increas… Suspense—does not conclude –