#AmericanWriters
XXXVII LOVE is anterior to life, Posterior to death, Initial of creation, and The exponent of breath.
213 Did the Harebell loose her girdle To the lover Bee Would the Bee the Harebell hallow Much as formerly?
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
7 The feet of people walking home With gayer sandals go— The Crocus—til she rises The Vassal of the snow—
443 I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— Life’s little duties do—precisely— As the very least Were infinite—to me—
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading—treading—till it see… That Sense was breaking through— And when they all were seated,
240 Ah, Moon—and Star! You are very far— But were no one Farther than you—
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes— I wonder if It weighs like Mine— Or has an Easier size. I wonder if They bore it long—
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
251 Over the fence— Strawberries—grow— Over the fence— I could climb—if I tried, I know—
277 What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate— And pass escaped—to thee! What if I file this Mortal—off—
719 A South Wind—has a pathos Of individual Voice— As One detect on Landings An Emigrant’s address.
699 The Judge is like the Owl— I’ve heard my Father tell— And Owls do build in Oaks— So here’s an Amber Sill—
283 A Mien to move a Queen— Half Child—Half Heroine— An Orleans in the Eye That puts its manner by