#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
529 I’m sorry for the Dead—Today— It’s such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences— It’s time o’ year for Hay.
621 I asked no other thing— No other—was denied— I offered Being—for it— The Mighty Merchant sneered—
123 Many cross the Rhine In this cup of mine. Sip old Frankfort air From my brown Cigar.
72 Glowing is her Bonnet, Glowing is her Cheek, Glowing is her Kirtle, Yet she cannot speak.
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,
Not any sunny tone From any fervent zone Find entrance there - Better a grave of Balm Toward human nature’s home -
779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin,
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
911 Too little way the House must lie From every Human Heart That holds in undisputed Lease A white inhabitant—
Nature the gentlest mother is, Impatient of no child, The feeblest of the waywardest. Her admonition mild In forest and the hill
It dropped so low in my regard I heard it hit the ground, And go to pieces on the stones At bottom of my mind; Yet blamed the fate that fractured…
XCIX THERE is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry.
242 When we stand on the tops of Thin… And like the Trees, look down— The smoke all cleared away from it… And Mirrors on the scene—
