#AmericanWriters
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep That makes no show for dawn By strech of limb or stir of lid,— An independent one. Was ever idleness like this?
LV I envy seas whereon he rides, I envy spokes of wheels Of chariots that him convey, I envy speechless hills
168 If the foolish, call them “flowers… Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well!
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—
698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—
Not in this world to see his face Sounds long, until I read the pla… Where this is said to be But just the primer to a life Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,
161 A feather from the Whippoorwill That everlasting—sings! Whose galleries—are Sunrise— Whose Opera—the Springs—
1100 The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different
711 Strong Draughts of Their Refresh… To drink—enables Mine Through Desert or the Wilderness As bore it Sealed Wine—
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me Had I but further scanned
XCIX THERE is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry.
UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…
522 Had I presumed to hope— The loss had been to Me A Value—for the Greatness’ Sake— As Giants—gone away—
375 The Angle of a Landscape— That every time I wake— Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack—
Had we our senses But perhaps ’tis well they’re not… So intimate with Madness He’s liable with them Had we the eyes without our Head—