#AmericanWriters
’Twas comfort in her Dying Room To hear the living Clock— A short relief to have the wind Walk boldly up and knock— Diversion from the Dying Theme
263 Is all that pins the Soul That stands for Deity, to Mine, Upon my side the Veil— Once witnessed of the Gauze—
671 She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid—
833 Perhaps you think me stooping I’m not ashamed of that Christ—stooped until He touched t… Do those at Sacrament
Apparently with no surprise, To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play, In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on.
A little Dog that wags his tail And knows no other joy Of such a little Dog am I Reminded by a Boy Who gambols all the living Day
434 To love thee Year by Year— May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease— However, dear,
407 If What we could—were what we wou… Criterion—be small— It is the Ultimate of Talk— The Impotence to Tell—
The Soul selects her own Society— Then—shuts the Door— To her divine Majority— Present no more— Unmoved—she notes the Chariots—pa…
To die—takes just a little while— They say it doesn’t hurt— It’s only fainter—by degrees— And then—it’s out of sight— A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
THE BAT is dun with wrinkled wi… Like fallow article, And not a song pervades his lips, Or none perceptible. His small umbrella, quaintly halve…
868 They ask but our Delight— The Darlings of the Soil And grant us all their Countenanc… For a penurious smile.
98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!
992 The Dust behind I strove to join Unto the Disk before— But Sequence ravelled out of Soun… Like Balls upon a Floor—
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…