#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
433 Knows how to forget! But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how
204 A slash of Blue— A sweep of Gray— Some scarlet patches on the way, Compose an Evening Sky—
44 If she had been the Mistletoe And I had been the Rose— How gay upon your table My velvet life to close—
45 There’s something quieter than sle… Within this inner room! It wears a sprig upon its breast— And will not tell its name.
955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.
On my volcano grows the Grass A meditative spot - An acre for a Bird to choose Would be the General thought - How red the Fire rocks below -
Who were “the Father and the Son” We pondered when a child, And what had they to do with us And when portentous told With inference appalling
788 Joy to have merited the Pain— To merit the Release— Joy to have perished every step— To Compass Paradise—
610 You’ll find—it when you try to die… The Easier to let go— For recollecting such as went— You could not spare—you know.
I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come,
366 Although I put away his life— An Ornament too grand For Forehead low as mine, to wear… This might have been the Hand
The words the happy say Are paltry melody But those the silent feel Are beautiful—
529 I’m sorry for the Dead—Today— It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences— It’s time o’ year for Hay.
552 An ignorance a Sunset Confer upon the Eye— Of Territory—Color— Circumference&mda sh;Decay—
772 The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost— The Summit is not given
