#AmericanWriters
117 In rags mysterious as these The shining Courtiers go— Veiling the purple, and the plumes… Veiling the ermine so.
773 Deprived of other Banquet, I entertained Myself— At first—a scant nutrition— An insufficient Loaf—
The thought beneath so slight a fi… Is more distincly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
509 If anybody’s friend be dead It’s sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive… At such and such a time—
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
50 I haven’t told my garden yet— Lest that should conquer me. I haven’t quite the strength now To break it to the Bee—
659 That first Day, when you praised… And said that I was strong— And could be mighty, if I liked— That Day—the Days among—
384 No Rack can torture me— My Soul—at Liberty— Behind this mortal Bone There knits a bolder One—
XXIII A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw.
959 A loss of something ever felt I— The first that I could recollect Bereft I was—of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect
963 A nearness to Tremendousness— An Agony procures— Affliction ranges Boundlessness— Vicinity to Laws
My Garden’—like the Beach’— Denotes there be’—a Sea’— That’s Summer’— Such as These’—the Pearls She fetches’—such as Me
470 I am alive—I guess— The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory— And at my finger’s end—
LXIII Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair.