#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
She sweeps with many-colored broom… And leaves the shreds behind; Oh, housewife in the evening west, Come back, and dust the pond! You dropped a purple ravelling in,
The cricket sang, And set the sun, And workmen finished, one by one, Their seam the day upon. The low grass loaded with the dew,
Each life converges to some centre Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal, Admitted scarcely to itself, it ma…
March is the Month of Expectation… The things we do not know - The Persons of prognostication Are coming now - We try to show becoming firmness -
927 Absent Place—an April Day— Daffodils a-blow Homesick curiosity To the Souls that snow—
The Butterfly upon the Sky, That doesn’t know its Name And hasn’t any tax to pay And hasn’t any Home Is just as high as you and I,
785 They have a little Odor—that to m… Is metre—nay—’tis melody— And spiciest at fading—indicate— A Habit—of a Laureate—
Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,
The dying need but little, dear,— A glass of water’s all, A flower’s unobtrusive face To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend’s regret,
571 Must be a Woe— A loss or so— To bend the eye Best Beauty’s way—
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
456 So well that I can live without— I love thee—then How well is that… As well as Jesus? Prove it me
The sky is low, the clouds are mea… A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day
350 They leave us with the Infinite. But He—is not a man— His fingers are the size of fists— His fists, the size of men—
434 To love thee Year by Year— May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease— However, dear,