#AmericanWriters
XLVIII THOUGH I get home how late, how… So I get home, ’t will compensate… Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me,
642 Me from Myself — to banish — Had I Art — Impregnable my Fortress Unto All Heart —
Are Friends Delight or Pain? Could Bounty but remain Riches were good - But if they only stay Ampler to fly away
Spring comes on the World - I sight the Aprils - Hueless to me until thou come As, till the Bee Blossoms stand negative,
887 We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer— Till it an Antique fashion shows— Like Costumes Grandsires wore.
855 To own the Art within the Soul The Soul to entertain With Silence as a Company And Festival maintain
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,
566 A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand—
158 Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow?
842 Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt! Better, to be found, If one care to, that is, The Fox fits the Hound—
174 At last, to be identified! At last, the lamps upon thy side The rest of Life to see! Past Midnight! Past the Morning…
LVI Faith is a fine invention For gentlemen who see; But microscopes are prudent In an emergency!
Not with a club, the Heart is bro… Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see… I’ve known To lash the magic creature
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech
464 The power to be true to You, Until upon my face The Judgment push his Picture— Presumptuous of Your Place—