#AmericanWriters
65 I can’t tell you—but you feel it— Nor can you tell me— Saints, with ravished slate and pe… Solve our April Day!
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;
742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
XXIV A NARROW fellow in the grass Occasionally rides; You may have met him,—did you not? His notice sudden is.
544 The Martyr Poets’—did not tell’— But wrought their Pang in syllabl… That when their mortal name be num… Their mortal fate’—encourage Some…
816 A Death blow is a Life blow to S… Who till they died, did not alive… Who had they lived, had died but w… They died, Vitality begun.
It was not death, for I stood up, And all the dead lie down; It was not night, for all the bell… Put out their tongues, for noon. It was not frost, for on my flesh
471 A Night—there lay the Days betwee… The Day that was Before— And Day that was Behind—were one— And now—'twas Night—was here—
443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—
383 Exhiliration—is within— There can no Outer Wine So royally intoxicate As that diviner Brand
928 The Heart has narrow Banks It measures like the Sea In mighty—unremitting Bass And Blue Monotony
It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -
1100 The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different
164 Mama never forgets her birds, Though in another tree— She looks down just as often And just as tenderly