#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
182 If I shouldn’t be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.
A clock stopped—not the mantel’s Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing That just now dangled still. An awe came on the trinket!
316 The Wind didn’t come from the Orc… Further than that— Nor stop to play with the Hay— Nor joggle a Hat—
How firm Eternity must look To crumbling men like me The only Adamant Estate In all Identity - How mighty to the insecure
904 Had I not This, or This, I said, Appealing to Myself, In moment of prosperity— Inadequate—were Life—
To the bright east she flies, Brothers of Paradise Remit her home, Without a change of wings, Or Love’s convenient things,
559 It knew no Medicine— It was not Sickness—then— Nor any need of Surgery— And therefore—'twas not Pain—
181 I lost a World - the other day! Has Anybody found? You’ll know it by the Row of Star… Around its forehead bound.
They shut me up in Prose— As when a little Girl They put me in the Closet— Because they liked me “still”— Still! Could themself have peeped…
567 He gave away his Life— To Us—Gigantic Sum— A trifle—in his own esteem— But magnified—by Fame—
XXXII HOPE is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the wor… And never stops at all,
930 There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed— A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed
759 He fought like those Who’ve nough… Bestowed Himself to Balls As One who for a further Life Had not a further Use—
There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—
422 More Life—went out—when He went Than Ordinary Breath— Lit with a finer Phosphor— Requiring in the Quench—