#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
981 As Sleigh Bells seem in summer Or Bees, at Christmas show— So fairy—so fictitious The individuals do
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
Escape is such a thankful Word I often in the Night Consider it unto myself No spectacle in sight Escape - it is the Basket
Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
XXV BELSHAZZAR had a letter,— He never had but one; Belshazzar’s correspondent Concluded and begun
926 Patience—has a quiet Outer— Patience—Look within— Is an Insect’s futile forces Infinites—between—
6 Frequently the wood are pink— Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town.
XLVI A THOUGHT went up my mind to—d… That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year,
1510 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn’t care about Careers And Exigencies never fears—
316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orc… Further than that— Nor stop to play with the Hay— Nor joggle a Hat—
Death sets a thing significant The eye had hurried by, Except a perished creature Entreat us tenderly To ponder little workmanships
863 That Distance was between Us That is not of Mile or Main— The Will it is that situates— Equator—never can—
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—
A little East of Jordan, Evangelists record, A Gymnast and an Angel Did wrestle long and hard— Till morning touching mountain—
