#AmericanWriters
158 Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?
XIV I’M ceded, I ’ve stopped being th… The name they dropped upon my face With water, in the country church, Is finished using now,
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
Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets,… Prodigal of blue, Spending scarlet like a woman,
717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—
678 Wolfe demanded during dying “Which obtain the Day”? “General, the British”—"Easy” Answered Wolfe “to die”
357 God is a distant—stately Lover— Woos, as He states us—by His Son… Verily, a Vicarious Courtship— “Miles”, and “Priscilla”, were su…
How firm Eternity must look To crumbling men like me The only Adamant Estate In all Identity - How mighty to the insecure
198 An awful Tempest mashed the air— The clouds were gaunt, and few— A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak Hid Heaven and Earth from view.
229 A Burdock—clawed my Gown— Not Burdock’s—blame— But mine— Who went too near
760 Most she touched me by her mutenes… Most she won me by the way She presented her small figure— Plea itself—for Charity—
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
172 ’Tis so much joy! ’Tis so much jo… If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I, Have ventured all upon a throw!
131 Besides the Autumn poets sing A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the Haze—
To see her is a Picture— To hear her is a Tune— To know her an Intemperance As innocent as June— To know her not—Affliction—