#AmericanWriters
689 The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous— We learned to like the Fire By playing Glaciers—when a Boy— And Tinder—guessed—by power
267 Did we disobey Him? Just one time! Charged us to forget Him— But we couldn’t learn!
734 If He were living—dare I ask— And how if He be dead— And so around the Words I went— Of meeting them—afraid—
941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize
916 His Feet are shod with Gauze— His Helmet, is of Gold, His Breast, a Single Onyx With Chrysophrase, inlaid.
My River runs to thee’— Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me? My River wait reply’— Oh Sea’—look graciously’— I’ll fetch thee Brooks
146 On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair—
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
40 When I count the seeds That are sown beneath, To bloom so, bye and bye— When I con the people
Pain—has an Element of Blank— It cannot recollect When it begun—or if there were A time when it was not— It has no Future—but itself—
We grow accustomed to the Dark - When light is put away - As when the Neighbor holds the La… To witness her Goodbye - A Moment - We uncertain step
378 I saw no Way—The Heavens were st… I felt the Columns close— The Earth reversed her Hemisphere… I touched the Universe—
112 Where bells no more affright the m… Where scrabble never comes— Where very nimble Gentlemen Are forced to keep their rooms—
266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!
474 They put Us far apart— As separate as Sea And Her unsown Peninsula— We signified “These see”—