#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
XLI THE soul unto itself Is an imperial friend,— Or the most agonizing spy An enemy could send.
894 Of Consciousness, her awful Mate The Soul cannot be rid— As easy the secreting her Behind the Eyes of God.
157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—
LXVI WHEN I hoped I feared, Since I hoped I dared; Everywhere alone As a church remain;
263 Is all that pins the Soul That stands for Deity, to Mine, Upon my side the Veil— Once witnessed of the Gauze—
My life closed twice before its cl… It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me So huge, so hopeless to conceive
XV I know some lonely houses off the… A robber ’d like the look of,— Wooden barred, And windows hanging low,
11 I never told the buried gold Upon the hill—that lies— I saw the sun—his plunder done Crouch low to guard his prize.
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,— The sweeping up the heart,
551 There is a Shame of Nobleness— Confronting Sudden Pelf— A finer Shame of Ecstasy— Convicted of Itself—
825 An Hour is a Sea Between a few, and me— With them would Harbor be—
54 If I should die, And you should live— And time should gurgle on— And morn should beam—
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
IX THE heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering;
Renunciation—is a piercing Virtue… The letting go A Presence—for an Expectation— Not now— The putting out of Eyes—
