#AmericanWriters
18 The Gentian weaves her fringes— The Maple’s loom is red— My departing blossoms Obviate parade.
The Sun kept setting—setting—stil… No Hue of Afternoon— Upon the Village I perceived From House to House ’twas Noon— The Dusk kept dropping—dropping—s…
XII I CANNOT live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf
To mend each tattered Faith There is a needle fair Though no appearance indicate ’Tis threaded in the Air And though it do not wear
173 A fuzzy fellow, without feet, Yet doth exceeding run! Of velvet, is his Countenance, And his Complexion, dun!
XCIX THERE is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry.
One need not be a chamber to be ha… One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing Material place. Far safer, of a midnight meeting
931 Noon—is the Hinge of Day— Evening—the Tissue Door— Morning—the East compelling the s… Till all the World is ajar—
XLIII I LIKE to see it lap the miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step
XXXVII For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.
827 The Only News I know Is Bulletins all Day From Immortality. The Only Shows I see—
We play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar,
LXXXVIII HEAVEN is what I cannot reach! The apple on the tree, Provided it do hopeless hang, That “heaven” is, to me.
It dropped so low—in my Regard— I heard it hit the Ground— And go to pieces on the Stones At bottom of my Mind— Yet blamed the Fate that flung it…
989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.