#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
656 The name—of it—is “Autumn”— The hue—of it—is Blood— An Artery—upon the Hill— A Vein—along the Road—
After a hundred years Nobody knows the place,— Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace. Weeds triumphant ranged,
Apparently with no surprise, To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play, In accidental power. The blond assassin passes on.
403 The Winters are so short— I’m hardly justified In sending all the Birds away— And moving into Pod—
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—
675 Essential Oilsare wrung The Attar from the Rose Be not expressed by Sunsalone It is the gift of Screws
Me! Come! My dazzled face In such a shining place! Me! Hear! My foreign ear The sounds of welcome near! The saints shall meet
933 Two Travellers perishing in Snow The Forests as they froze Together heard them strengthening Each other with the words
818 I could not drink it, Sweet, Till You had tasted first, Though cooler than the Water was The Thoughtfullness of Thirst.
94 Angels, in the early morning May be seen the Dews among, Stooping—plucking—smiling&m da… Do the Buds to them belong?
546 To fill a Gap Insert the Thing that caused it— Block it up With Other—and 'twill yawn the mo…
978 It bloomed and dropt, a Single No… The Flower—distinct and Red— I, passing, thought another Noon Another in its stead
Tie the strings to my life, my Lo… Then I am ready to go! Just a look at the horses— Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side,
I cannot live with You— It would be Life— And Life is over there— Behind the Shelf The Sexton keeps the Key to—
LXXXIII This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond — Invisible, as Music — But positive, as Sound —
