#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
898 How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom
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
Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being’s road, Eternity by term. Our pace took sudden awe,
945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—
994 Partake as doth the Bee, Abstemiously. The Rose is an Estate— In Sicily.
Departed to the judgment, A mighty afternoon; Great clouds like ushers leaning, Creation looking on. The flesh surrendered, cancelled
55 By Chivalries as tiny, A Blossom, or a Book, The seeds of smiles are planted— Which blossom in the dark.
62 “Sown in dishonor”! Ah! Indeed! May this “dishonor” be? If I were half so fine myself
590 Did you ever stand in a Cavern’s… Widths out of the Sun— And look—and shudder, and block yo… And deem to be alone
830 To this World she returned. But with a tinge of that— A Compound manner, As a Sod
We don’t cry—Tim and I, We are far too grand— But we bolt the door tight To prevent a friend— Then we hide our brave face
934 That is solemn we have ended Be it but a Play Or a Glee among the Garret Or a Holiday
XXXVI I NEVER hear the word “escape” Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude.
451 The Outer—from the Inner Derives its Magnitude— ’Tis Duke, or Dwarf, according As is the Central Mood—
889 Crisis is a Hair Toward which the forces creep Past which forces retrograde If it come in sleep
