#AmericanWriters
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
823 Not that We did, shall be the tes… When Act and Will are done But what Our Lord infers We woul… Had We diviner been—
913 And this of all my Hopes This, is the silent end Bountiful colored, my Morning ros… Early and sere, its end
855 To own the Art within the Soul The Soul to entertain With Silence as a Company And Festival maintain
547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—
33 If recollecting were forgetting, Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot.
525 I think the Hemlock likes to stan… Upon a Marge of Snow— It suits his own Austerity— And satisfies an awe
421 A Charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld— The Lady dare not lift her Veil For fear it be dispelled—
Publication—is the Auction Of the Mind of Man— Poverty—be justifying For so foul a thing Possibly—but We—would rather
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
This is the land the sunset washes… These are the banks of the Yellow… Where it rose, or whither it rushe… These are the western mystery! Night after night her purple traff…
777 The Loneliness One dare not sound… And would as soon surmise As in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size—
972 Unfulfilled to Observation— Incomplete—to Eye— But to Faith—a Revolution In Locality—
339 I tend my flowers for thee— Bright Absentee! My Fuchsia’s Coral Seams Rip—while the Sower—dreams—
724 It’s easy to invent a Life— God does it—every Day— Creation—but the Gambol Of His Authority—