#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance
If Nature smiles - the Mother mu… I’m sure, at many a whim Of Her eccentric Family - Is She so much to blame?
896 Of Silken Speech and Specious Sh… A Traitor is the Bee His service to the newest Grace Present continually
A little bread—a crust—a crumb— A little trust—a demijohn— Can keep the soul alive— Not portly, mind! but breathing—wa… Conscious—as old Napoleon,
723 It tossed—and tossed— A little Brig I knew—o’ertook by… It spun—and spun— And groped delirious, for Morn—
440 ’Tis customary as we part A trinket—to confer— It helps to stimulate the faith When Lovers be afar—
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
LXXIX I YEARS had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before
I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since
10 My wheel is in the dark! I cannot see a spoke Yet know its dripping feet Go round and round.
September’s Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets– Crows– and Retros… And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming -
It’s thoughts—and just One Heart— And Old Sunshine—about— Make frugal—Ones—Content— And two or three—for Company— Upon a Holiday—
393 Did Our Best Moment last— ‘Twould supersede the Heaven— A few—and they by Risk—procure— So this Sort—are not given—
326 I cannot dance upon my Toes’— No Man instructed me’— But oftentimes, among my mind, A Glee possesseth me,
707 The Grace—Myself—might not obtain… Confer upon My flower— Refracted but a Countenance— For I—inhabit Her—
