#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #XIXCentury
183 I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometim… In a Cathedral Aisle, And understood no word it said— Yet held my breath, the while—
924 Love—is that later Thing than Dea… More previous—than Life— Confirms it at its entrance—And Usurps it—of itself—
33 If recollecting were forgetting, Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot.
His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…
49 I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod. Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God!
XLIX WE outgrow love like other things And put it in the drawer, Till it an antique fashion shows Like costumes grandsires wore.
An everywhere of silver, With ropes of sand To keep it from effacing The track called land.
XXV Wild nights—Wild nights! Were I with thee Wild nights should be Our luxury!
51 I often passed the village When going home from school— And wondered what they did there— And why it was so still—
810 Her Grace is all she has— And that, so least displays— One Art to recognize, must be, Another Art, to praise.
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,
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,
405 It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness— I’m so accustomed to my Fate— Perhaps the Other—Peace—
694 The Heaven vests for Each In that small Deity It craved the grace to worship Some bashful Summer’s Day—
355 ’Tis Opposites—entice— Deformed Men—ponder Grace— Bright fires—the Blanketless— The Lost—Day’s face—
