#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
526 To hear an Oriole sing May be a common thing— Or only a divine. It is not of the Bird
25 She slept beneath a tree— Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute— She recognized the foot—
809 Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality, Nay, it is Deity— Unable they that love—to die
40 When I count the seeds That are sown beneath, To bloom so, bye and bye— When I con the people
LX A SHADY friend for torrid days Is easier to find Than one of higher temperature For frigid hour of mind.
XLVIII THOUGH I get home how late, how… So I get home, ’t will compensate… Better will be the ecstasy That they have done expecting me,
325 Of Tribulation, these are They, Denoted by the White— The Spangled Gowns, a lesser Ran… Of Victors—designate—
92 My friend must be a Bird’— Because it flies! Mortal, my friend must be, Because it dies!
207 Tho’ I get home how late—how late… So I get home—’twill compensate— Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me—
405 It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness— I’m so accustomed to my Fate— Perhaps the Other—Peace—
“Houses”'—so the Wise Men tell me… Houses—so the Wise Men tell me— “Mansions”! Mansions must be warm… Mansions cannot let the tears in, Mansions must exclude the storm!
826 Love reckons by itself—alone— “As large as I”—relate the Sun To One who never felt it blaze— Itself is all the like it has—
It’s like the light,— A fashionless delight It’s like the bee,— A dateless melody. It’s like the woods,
521 Endow the Living—with the Tears— You squander on the Dead, And They were Men and Women—now, Around Your Fireside—
The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.
