#AmericanWriters
The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own—
A shady friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind. The vane a little to the east
895 A Cloud withdrew from the Sky Superior Glory be But that Cloud and its Auxiliarie… Are forever lost to me
XXVI THE brain within its groove Runs evenly and true; But let a splinter swerve, ’T were easier for you
61 Papa above! Regard a Mouse O’erpowered by the Cat! Reserve within thy kingdom
432 Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live
584 It ceased to hurt me, though so sl… I could not feel the Anguish go— But only knew by looking back— That something—had benumbed the T…
Tie the strings to my life, my Lo… Then I am ready to go! Just a look at the horses— Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side,
A Coffin—is a small Domain, Yet able to contain A Citizen of Paradise In it diminished Plane. A Grave—is a restricted Breadth—
717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—
802 Time feels so vast that were it no… For an Eternity— I fear me this Circumference Engross my Finity—
490 To One denied the drink To tell what Water is Would be acuter, would it not Than letting Him surmise?
835 Nature and God—I neither knew Yet Both so well knew me They startled, like Executors Of My identity.
755 No Bobolink—reverse His Singing When the only Tree Ever He minded occupying By the Farmer be—
714 Rest at Night The Sun from shining, Nature—and some Men— Rest at Noon—some Men—