#AmericanWriters
His Heart was darker than the sta… For that there is a morn But in this black Receptacle Can be no Bode of Dawn
565 One Anguish—in a Crowd— A Minor thing—it sounds— And yet, unto the single Doe Attempted of the Hounds
863 That Distance was between Us That is not of Mile or Main— The Will it is that situates— Equator—never can—
684 Best Gains’—must have the Losses’… To constitute them’—Gains’—
660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—
227 Teach Him’—When He makes the nam… Such an one’—to say’— On his babbling’—Berry’—lips’— As should sound’—to me’—
563 I could not prove the Years had f… Yet confident they run Am I, from symptoms that are past And Series that are done—
173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!
194 On this long storm the Rainbow ro… On this late Morn—the Sun— The clouds—like listless Elephant… Horizons—straggled down—
88 As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear— As for the lost we grapple Tho’ all the rest are here—
LXIII Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair.
667 Bloom upon the Mountain’—stated’— Blameless of a Name’— Efflorescence of a Sunset’— Reproduced’—the same’—
423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
113 Our share of night to bear— Our share of morning— Our blank in bliss to fill Our blank in scorning—