#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
Of so divine a Loss We enter but the Gain, Indemnity for Loneliness That such a Bliss has been.
XLIX WE outgrow love like other things And put it in the drawer, Till it an antique fashion shows Like costumes grandsires wore.
’Twas such a little—little boat That toddled down the bay! ’Twas such a gallant—gallant sea That beckoned it away! ’Twas such a greedy, greedy wave
All men for Honor hardest work But are not known to earn - Paid after they have ceased to wor… In Infamy or Urn -
Ended, ere it begun - The Title was scarcely told When the Preface perished from Co… The Story, unrevealed - Had it been mine, to print!
698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—
733 The Spirit is the Conscious Ear. We actually Hear When We inspect—that’s audible— That is admitted—Here—
921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.
527 To put this World down, like a Bu… And walk steady, away, Requires Energy—possibly Agony— ’Tis the Scarlet way
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple Host
XXI 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.
23 I had a guinea golden— I lost it in the sand— And tho’ the sum was simple And pounds were in the land—
Each life converges to some centre Expressed or still; Exists in every human nature A goal, Admitted scarcely to itself, it ma…
859 A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
His bill an auger is, His head, a cap and frill. He laboreth at every tree,— A worm his utmost goal.
