#AmericanWriters
XLV DELIGHT becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain.
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
927 Absent Place—an April Day— Daffodils a-blow Homesick curiosity To the Souls that snow—
158 Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?
LXXIII I ’LL tell you how the sun rose,— A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.
925 Struck, was I, not yet by Lightni… Lightning—lets away Power to perceive His Process With Vitality.
74 A Lady red—amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily sleeps!
66 So from the mould Scarlet and Gold Many a Bulb will rise— Hidden away, cunningly, From saga…
Before you thought of spring, Except as a surmise, You see, God bless his suddenness… A fellow in the skies Of independent hues,
40 When I count the seeds That are sown beneath, To bloom so, bye and bye— When I con the people
997 Crumbling is not an instant’s Act A fundamental pause Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays.
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;
756 One Blessing had I than the rest So larger to my Eyes That I stopped gauging—satisfied— For this enchanted size—
XXXIII 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
155 The Murmur of a Bee A Witchcraft—yieldeth me— If any ask me why— ’Twere easier to die—