#AmericanWriters
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
I never hear the word 'escape’ Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude. I never hear of prisons broad
Part Five: The Single Hound XLIX The duties of the Wind are few— To cast the ships, at Sea, Establish March, the Floods escor…
286 That after Horror — that ’twas us… That passed the mouldering Pier — Just as the Granite Crumb let go… Our Savior, by a Hair —
551 There is a Shame of Nobleness— Confronting Sudden Pelf— A finer Shame of Ecstasy— Convicted of Itself—
Our lives are Swiss— So still—so Cool— Till some odd afternoon The Alps neglect their Curtains And we look farther on!
886 These tested Our Horizon— Then disappeared As Birds before achieving A Latitude.
Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—
542 I had no Cause to be awake— My Best—was gone to sleep— And Morn a new politeness took— And failed to wake them up—
846 Twice had Summer her fair Verdure Proffered to the Plain— Twice a Winter’s silver Fracture On the Rivers been—
637 The Child’s faith is new— Whole—like His Principle— Wide—like the Sunrise On fresh Eyes—
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
LV I envy seas whereon he rides, I envy spokes of wheels Of chariots that him convey, I envy speechless hills
215 What is – “Paradise” – Who live there – Are they “Farmers” – Do they “hoe” –