#AmericanWriters
Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take
1763 Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
XII I CANNOT live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
941 The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals— The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize
444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—
849 The good Will of a Flower The Man who would possess Must first present Certificate
286 That after Horror — that ’twas us… That passed the mouldering Pier — Just as the Granite Crumb let go… Our Savior, by a Hair —
LX A SHADY friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind.
853 When One has given up One’s life The parting with the rest Feels easy, as when Day lets go Entirely the West
308 I send Two Sunsets— Day and I—in competition ran— I finished Two—and several Stars— While He—was making One—
On this wondrous sea Sailing silently, Ho! Pilot, ho! Knowest thou the shore Where no breakers roar—
70 “Arcturus” is his other name— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere!