#AmericanWriters
737 The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago— And now she turns Her perfect Fac… Upon the World below—
821 Away from Home are some and I— An Emigrant to be In a Metropolis of Homes Is easy, possibly—
I had not minded—Walls— Were Universe—one Rock— And far I heard his silver Call The other side the Block— I’d tunnel—till my Groove
563 I could not prove the Years had f… Yet confident they run Am I, from symptoms that are past And Series that are done—
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
XXXIV WHO never lost, are unprepared A coronet to find; Who never thirsted, flagons And cooling tamarind.
369 She lay as if at play Her life had leaped away— Intending to return— But not so soon—
372 I know lives, I could miss Without a Misery— Others—whose instant’s wanting— Would be Eternity—
XXV Wild nights—Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury!
“Arcturus” is his other name’— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere! I slew a worm the other day’—
8 There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man— It hurls its barbed syllables
39 It did not surprise me— So I said—or thought— She will stir her pinions And the nest forgot,
13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand
His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…
974 The Soul’s distinct connection With immortality Is best disclosed by Danger Or quick Calamity—