#AmericanWriters
I many times thought Peace had co… When Peace was far away’— As Wrecked Men’—deem they sight t… At Centre of the Sea’— And struggle slacker’—but to prove
To my quick ear the leaves conferr… The bushes they were bells; I could not find a privacy From Nature’s sentinels. In cave if I presumed to hide,
194 On this long storm the Rainbow ro… On this late Morn—the Sun— The clouds—like listless Elephant… Horizons—straggled down—
The Beggar at the Door for Fame Were easily supplied But Bread is that Diviner thing Disclosed to be denied
XXXVII LOVE is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.
So much of Heaven has gone from E… That there must be a Heaven If only to enclose the Saints To Affidavit given. The Missionary to the Mole
I noticed People disappeared When but a little child - Supposed they visited remote Or settled Regions wild - But did because they died
717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—
Those fair—fictitious People— The Women—plucked away From our familiar Lifetime— The Men of Ivory— Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas—
840 I cannot buy it—’tis not sold— There is no other in the World— Mine was the only one I was so happy I forgot
958 We met as Sparks—Diverging Flint… Sent various—scattered ways— We parted as the Central Flint Were cloven with an Adze—
663 Again—his voice is at the door— I feel the old Degree— I hear him ask the servant For such an one—as me—
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
LVII EXCEPT the heaven had come so n… So seemed to choose my door, The distance would not haunt me so… I had not hoped before.
A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky— A little purple—slipped between—