#AmericanWriters
608 Afraid! Of whom am I afraid? Not Death—for who is He? The Porter of my Father’s Lodge As much abasheth me!
772 The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost— The Summit is not given
The Grass so little has to do— A Sphere of simple Green— With only Butterflies to brood And Bees to entertain— And stir all day to pretty Tunes
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning— and untouched by noon— Sleep the meek members of the Res… Rafter of Satin and Roof of Ston…
Death leaves Us homesick, who beh… Except that it is gone Are ignorant of its Concern As if it were not born. Through all their former Places,…
375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—
313 I should have been too glad, I se… Too lifted—for the scant degree Of Life’s penurious Round— My little Circuit would have sham…
310 Give little Anguish— Lives will fret— Give Avalanches— And they’ll slant—
40 When I count the seeds That are sown beneath, To bloom so, bye and bye— When I con the people
888 When I have seen the Sun emerge From His amazing House— And leave a Day at every Door A Deed, in every place—
965 Denial—is the only fact Perceived by the Denied— Whose Will—a numb significance— The Day the Heaven died—
225 Jesus! thy Crucifix Enable thee to guess The smaller size! Jesus! thy second face
The show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be. Fair play—
Whole Gulfs– of Red, and Fleets… And Crews– of solid Blood – Did place upon the West– Tonight… As ’twere specific Ground - And They– appointed Creatures –
A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew