#AmericanWriters
634 You’ll know Her—by Her Foot— The smallest Gamboge Hand With Fingers—where the Toes shoul… Would more affront the Sand—
264 A Weight with Needles on the poun… To push, and pierce, besides— That if the Flesh resist the Heft… The puncture—coolly tries—
XXVIII A CHARM invests a face Imperfectly beheld,— The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled.
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—
838 Impossibility, like Wine Exhilarates the Man Who tastes it; Possibility Is flavorless—Combine
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,
560 It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation… But large—serene— Burned on—until through Dissoluti… It failed from Men—
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
910 Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By—Paradox—the Mind itself— Presuming it to lead
A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! Your prayers, oh Passer by! From such a common ball as this Might date a Victory! From marshallings as simple
947 Of Tolling Bell I ask the cause? “A Soul has gone to Heaven” I’m answered in a lonesome tone— Is Heaven then a Prison?
239 “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—"He aven" is—to Me!
496 As far from pity, as complaint— As cool to speech—as stone— As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone—
421 A Charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld— The Lady dare not lift her Veil For fear it be dispelled—