#AmericanWriters
696 Their Height in Heaven comforts n… Their Glory—nought to me— ’Twas best imperfect—as it was— I’m finite—I can’t see—
96 Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here… Pray lead me to his bed! I came to build the Bird’s nest, And sow the Early seed—
981 As Sleigh Bells seem in summer Or Bees, at Christmas show— So fairy—so fictitious The individuals do
Dying at my music! Bubble! Bubble! Hold me till the Octave’s run! Quick! Burst the Windows! Ritardando!
632 The Brain—is wider than the Sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will contain With ease—and You—beside—
910 Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By—Paradox—the Mind itself— Presuming it to lead
240 Ah, Moon—and Star! You are very far— But were no one Farther than you—
907 Till Death’—is narrow Loving’— The scantest Heart extant Will hold you till your privilege Of Finiteness’—be spent’—
423 The Months have ends—the Years—a… No Power can untie To stretch a little further A Skein of Misery—
964 “Unto Me?” I do not know you— Where may be your House? “I am Jesus—Late of Judea— Now—of Paradise”—
It stole along so stealthy Suspicion it was done Was dim as to the wealthy Beginning not to own -
Too cold is this To warm with Sun - Too stiff to bended be, To joint this Agate were a work - Outstaring Masonry -
Shall I take thee, the Poet said To the propounded word? Be stationed with the Candidates Till I have finer tried— The Poet searched Philology
456 So well that I can live without— I love thee—then How well is that… As well as Jesus? Prove it me
437 Prayer is the little implement Through which Men reach Where Presence—is denied them. They fling their Speech