#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
70 “Arcturus” is his other name— I’d rather call him “Star.” It’s very mean of Science To go and interfere!
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ectasty. For each beloved hour
523 Sweet—You forgot—but I remembered Every time—for Two— So that the Sum be never hindered Through Decay of You—
805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—
914 I cannot be ashamed Because I cannot see The love you offer— Magnitude
Lightly stepped a yellow star To its lofty place - Loosed the Moon her silver hat From her lustral Face - All of Evening softly lit
547 I’ve seen a Dying Eye Run round and round a Room— In search of Something—as it seem… Then Cloudier become—
348 I would not paint—a picture— I’d rather be the One It’s bright impossibility To dwell—delicious—on—
354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—
110 Artists wrestled here! Lo, a tint Cashmere! Lo, a Rose! Student of the Year!
955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.
989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.
189 It’s such a little thing to weep— So short a thing to sigh— And yet—by Trades—the size of the… We men and women die!
The show is not the show, But they that go. Menagerie to me My neighbor be. Fair play—
444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—
