#AmericanWriters
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,
912 Peace is a fiction of our Faith— The Bells a Winter Night Bearing the Neighbor out of Sound That never did alight.
952 A Man may make a Remark— In itself—a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a… In dormant nature—lain—
240 Ah, Moon—and Star! You are very far— But were no one Farther than you—
57 To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I,
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
No rack can torture me, My soul’s at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one You cannot prick with saw,
365 Dare you see a Soul at the White… Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore
907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—
66 So from the mould Scarlet and Gold Many a Bulb will rise— Hidden away, cunningly, From saga…
Exhilaration is the Breeze That lifts us from the Ground And leaves us in another place Whose statement is not found - Returns us not, but after time
742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
XXXIV NATURE is what we see, The Hill, the Afternoon— Squirrel, Eclipse, the Bumble-bee… Nay—Nature is Heaven.
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,