#AmericanWriters
817 Given in Marriage unto Thee Oh thou Celestial Host— Bride of the Father and the Son Bride of the Holy Ghost.
30 Adrift! A little boat adrift! And night is coming down! Will no one guide a little boat Unto the nearest town?
74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!
760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
819 All I may, if small, Do it not display Larger for the Totalness— ’Tis Economy
XLVIII THOUGH I get home how late, how… So I get home, ’t will compensate… Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me,
787 Such is the Force of Happiness— The Least—can lift a Ton Assisted by its stimulus— Who Misery—sustain—
How firm Eternity must look To crumbling men like me The only Adamant Estate In all Identity - How mighty to the insecure
439 Undue Significance a starving man… To Food— Far off—He sighs—and therefore—Ho… And therefore—Good—
224 I've nothing else—to bring, You k… So I keep bringing These— Just as the Night keeps fetching… To our familiar eyes—
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few - love at all.
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,