#AmericanWriters
471 A Night—there lay the Days betwee… The Day that was Before— And Day that was Behind—were one— And now—'twas Night—was here—
My nosegays are for captives; Dim, long-expectant eyes, Fingers denied the plucking, Patient till paradise. To such, if they should whisper
296 One Year ago’—jots what? God’—spell the word! I’—can’t’— Was’t Grace? Not that’— Was’t Glory? That’—will do’—
984 ’Tis Anguish grander than Delight ’Tis Resurrection Pain— The meeting Bands of smitten Face We questioned to, again.
684 Best Gains’—must have the Losses’… To constitute them’—Gains’—
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped Freight Of a delivered syllable ‘Twould crumble with the weight.
504 You know that Portrait in the Moo… So tell me who ’tis like— The very Brow—the stooping eyes— A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
I cannot live with You— It would be Life— And Life is over there— Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to—
833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
63 If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise,
217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?
574 My first well Day — since many il… I asked to go abroad, And take the Sunshine in my hands… And see the things in Pod —
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.