#AmericanWriters #CommonMeasure #Epigram
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
75 She died at play, Gambolled away Her lease of spotted hours, Then sank as gaily as a Turn
416 A Murmur in the Trees—to note— Not loud enough—for Wind— A Star—not far enough to seek— Nor near enough—to find—
344 ’Twas the old—road—through pain— That unfrequented—One— With many a turn—and thorn— That stops—at Heaven—
212 Least Rivers—docile to some sea. My Caspian—thee.
781 To wait an Hour—is long— If Love be just beyond— To wait Eternity—is short— If Love reward the end—
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
LXIII Ample make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair.
990 Not all die early, dying young— Maturity of Fate Is consummated equally In Ages, or a Night—
445 ’Twas just this time, last year,… I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms— It had the Tassels on—
124 In lands I never saw—they say Immortal Alps look down— Whose Bonnets touch the firmament… Whose Sandals touch the town—
193 I shall know why — when Time is o… And I have ceased to wonder why — Christ will explain each separate… In the fair schoolroom of the sky…
772 The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost— The Summit is not given
The Butterfly’s Assumption Gown In Chrysoprase Apartments hung This afternoon put on— How condescending to descend And be of Buttercups the friend
652 A Prison gets to be a friend— Between its Ponderous face And Ours—a Kinsmanship express— And in its narrow Eyes—