#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
I found the phrase to every though… I ever had, but one; And that defies me,—as a hand Did try to chalk the sun To races nurtured in the dark;—
178 I cautious, scanned my little life… I winnowed what would fade From what would last till Heads l… Should be a-dreaming laid.
Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion - Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun,
Witchcraft has not a Pedigree ’Tis early as our Breath And mourners meet it going out The moment of our death—
414 ’Twas like a Maelstrom, with a no… That nearer, every Day, Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel Until the Agony
819 All I may, if small, Do it not display Larger for the Totalness— ’Tis Economy
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear— A waking on a morn To find that what one waked for, Inhales the different dawn.
104 Where I have lost, I softer tread… I sow sweet flower from garden bed… I pause above that vanished head And mourn.
98 One dignity delays for all— One mitred Afternoon— None can avoid this purple— None evade this Crown!
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds
295 Unto like Story—Trouble has entic… How Kinsmen fell— Brothers and Sister—who preferred… And their young will
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,
645 Bereavement in their death to feel Whom We have never seen— A Vital Kinsmanship import Our Soul and theirs—between—
335 ’Tis not that Dying hurts us so— ’Tis Living—hurts us more— But Dying—is a different way— A Kind behind the Door—
Luck is not chance It’s Toil Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned The Father of the Mine
