#AmericanWriters
XIII THE soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.
776 The Color of a Queen, is this— The Color of a Sun At setting—this and Amber— Beryl—and this, at Noon—
530 You cannot put a Fire out— A Thing that can ignite Can go, itself, without a Fan— Upon the slowest Night—
696 Their Height in Heaven comforts n… Their Glory—nought to me— ’Twas best imperfect—as it was— I’m finite—I can’t see—
285 The Robin’s my Criterion for Tun… Because I grow—where Robins do— But, were I Cuckoo born— I’d swear by him—
105 To hang our head—ostensibly— And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind—
269 Bound—a trouble— And lives can bear it! Limit—how deep a bleeding go! So—many—drops—of vital scarlet—
887 We outgrow love, like other things And put it in the Drawer— Till it an Antique fashion shows— Like Costumes Grandsires wore.
87 A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
He ate and drank the precious Wor… His Spirit grew robust— He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust— He danced along the dingy Days
XLVII HEART, we will forget him! You and I, to—night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
619 Glee—The great storm is over— Four—have recovered the Land— Forty gone down together— Into the boiling Sand.
LXVII If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam,
623 It was too late for Man— But early, yet, for God— Creation—impotent to help— But Prayer—remained—Our Side—