#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
959 A loss of something ever felt I— The first that I could recollect Bereft I was—of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect
841 A Moth the hue of this Haunts Candles in Brazil. Nature’s Experience would make Our Reddest Second pale.
464 The power to be true to You, Until upon my face The Judgment push his Picture— Presumptuous of Your Place—
I bet with every Wind that blew Till Nature in chagrin Employed a Fact to visit me And scuttle my Balloon -
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,
603 He found my Being—set it up— Adjusted it to place— Then carved his name—upon it— And bade it to the East
He ate and drank the precious Wor… His Spirit grew robust— He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was Dust— He danced along the dingy Days
These Fevered Days—to take them t… Where Waters cool around the moss… And shade is all that devastates t… Seems it sometimes this would be a…
63 If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise,
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
549 That I did always love I bring thee Proof That till I loved I never lived—Enough—
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasur… To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore… A privilege, I think, His venerable hand to take,
955 The Hollows round His eager Eyes Were Pages where to read Pathetic Histories—although Himself had not complained.
588 I cried at Pity—not at Pain— I heard a Woman say “Poor Child”—and something in her… Convicted me—of me—
XV I know some lonely houses off the… A robber ’d like the look of,— Wooden barred, And windows hanging low,
