#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
147 Bless God, he went as soldiers, His musket on his breast— Grant God, he charge the bravest Of all the martial blest!
The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain– And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep;
672 The Future—never spoke— Nor will He—like the Dumb— Reveal by sign—a syllable Of His Profound To Come—
LXXXIX A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just
717 The Beggar Lad—dies early— It’s Somewhat in the Cold— And Somewhat in the Trudging feet… And haply, in the World—
917 Love—is anterior to Life— Posterior—to Death— Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth—
713 Fame of Myself, to justify, All other Plaudit be Superfluous—An Incense Beyond Necessity—
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,
XLIX A POOR torn heart, a tattered he… That sat it down to rest, Nor noticed that the ebbing day Flowed silver to the west,
28 So has a Daisy vanished From the fields today— So tiptoed many a slipper To Paradise away—
600 It troubled me as once I was— For I was once a Child— Concluding how an Atom—fell— And yet the Heavens—held—
252 I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I’m used to that— But the least push of Joy
112 Where bells no more affright the m… Where scrabble never comes— Where very nimble Gentlemen Are forced to keep their rooms—
354 From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged—a Summer Afternoon— Repairing Everywhere—
89 Some things that fly there be— Birds—Hours—the Bumblebee— Of these no Elegy. Some things that stay there be—
