#AmericanWriters
822 This Consciousness that is aware Of Neighbors and the Sun Will be the one aware of Death And that itself alone
XXVIII I BRING an unaccustomed wine To lips long parching, next to min… And summon them to drink. Crackling with fever, they essay;
Silence is all we dread. There’s Ransom in a Voice - But Silence is Infinity. Himself have not a face.
1540 As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away— Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy—
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,
381 A Secret told— Ceases to be a Secret—then— A Secret—kept— That—can appal but One—
828 The Robin is the One That interrupt the Morn With hurried—few—express Reports When March is scarcely on—
308 I send Two Sunsets— Day and I—in competition ran— I finished Two—and several Stars— While He—was making One—
That only lasts an hour How much '— how little '— is Within our power
XXIX THE nearest dream recedes, unreal… The heaven we chase Like the June bee Before the school—boy
There’s been a death in the opposi… As lately as to-day. I know it by the numb look Such houses have alway. The neighbors rustle in and out,
655 Without this—there is nought— All other Riches be As is the Twitter of a Bird— Heard opposite the Sea—
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
How lonesome the Wind must feel N… When people have put out the Ligh… And everything that has an Inn Closes the shutter and goes in— How pompous the Wind must feel No…
The going from a world we know To one a wonder still Is like the child’s adversity Whose vista is a hill, Behind the hill is sorcery