#AmericanWriters
16 I would distil a cup, And bear to all my friends, Drinking to her no more astir, By beck, or burn, or moor!
939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
XIV I’M ceded, I ’ve stopped being th… The name they dropped upon my face With water, in the country church, Is finished using now,
627 The Tint I cannot take—is best— The Color too remote That I could show it in Bazaar— A Guinea at a sight—
625 ’Twas a long Parting—but the time For Interview—had Come— Before the Judgment Seat of God— The last—and second time
They dropped like flakes, they dro… Like petals from a rose, When suddenly across the lune A wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless gras…
130 These are the days when Birds com… A very few—a Bird or two— To take a backward look. These are the days when skies resu…
LVIII PORTRAITS are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
879 Each Second is the last Perhaps, recalls the Man Just measuring unconsciousness The Sea and Spar between.
128 Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, Tell me how far the morning leaps—
438 Forget! The lady with the Amulet Forget she wore it at her Heart Because she breathed against Was Treason twixt?
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
LXI A LITTLE road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly.
964 “Unto Me?” I do not know you— Where may be your House? “I am Jesus—Late of Judea— Now—of Paradise”—